Edwin  Howard  Brigham. 
HIS  BOOK. 


THE  LIBHAK 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANCELEii 


Stories  of  the  Railroad 


G'c 


"Quick  as  a  flash  the  Kid  had  my  arm." 

(page  73.) 


STORIES  of  the 
RAILROAD 

by 
John  A.   Hill 


New  York 

Doubleday  &  McClure  Co. 
1899 


COPYRIGHT,  1898,  1899, 

BY 
S.  S.  McCujRE  Co. 


COPYRIGHT,  1899, 
BY 

DOUBLEDAY  &  McClURE  Co. 


Contents 

PAGE 

An  Engineer's  Christmas  Story 7 

The  Clean  Man  and  the  Dirty  Angels 27 

Jim  Wainwright's  Kid  45 

A  Peg-legged  Romance 75 

My  Lady  of  the  Eyes 97 

Some  Freaks  of  Fate » 151 

Mormon  Joe,  the  Robber 191 

A  Midsummer  Night's  Trip 227 

The  Polar  Zone 253 


1.711976 


List  of  Illustrations 


1  Quick  as  a  flash  the  Kid  had  my  arm."  Frontispiece 

TO  FACE 

I  noticed  his  long,  slim  hand  on  the  top  of  the 
reverse-lever  " 22 

It  was  a  strange  courting  .   .   .   there  on  that 
engine" 70 

'  We  carried  him  into  the  depot  " 100 

'  He  was  the  first  man  I  ever  killed  " 176 

• '  Mexican,'  said  I  " 236 

1  What  seemed  to  be  a  giant  iceberg  .  .  ." 282 

'A  white  city  .  .  .  was  visible  for  an  instant". .   292 


An    Engineer's    Christmas 
Story 


FACSIMILE  OF  A  COMPLETED  ORDER   AS  ENTERED  IN  THE  DE- 
SPATCHER'S  ORDER-BOOK 


STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 


AN  ENGINEER'S  CHRISTMAS  STORY 

IN  the  summer,  fall,  and  early  winter  of 
1863,  I  was  tossing  chips  into  an  old  Hinkley 
insider  up  in  New  England,  for  an  engineer 
by  the  name  of  James  Dillon.  Dillon  was 
considered  as  good  a  man  as  there  was  on  the 
road:  careful,  yet  fearless,  kindhearted,  yet 
impulsive,  a  man  whose  friends  would  fight 
for  him  and  whose  enemies  hated  him  right 
royally. 

Dillon  took  a  great  notion  to  me,  and  I 
loved  him  as  a  father ;  the  fact  of  the  matter 
is,  he  was  more  of  a  father  to  me  than  I  had 
at  home,  for  my  father  refused  to  be  com- 
forted when  I  took  to  railroading,  and  I 
could  not  see  him  more  than  two  or  three 
times  a  year  at  the  most — so  when  I  wanted 
advice  I  went  to  Jim. 
7 


8  STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

I  was  a  young  fellow  then,  and  being  with- 
out a  home  at  either  end  of  the  run,  was 
likely  to  drop  into  pitfalls.  Dillon  saw  this 
long  before  I  did.  Before  I  had  been  with 
him  three  months,  he  told  me  one  day,  com- 
ing in,  that  it  was  against  his  principles  to 
teach  locomotive-running  to  a  young  man 
who  was  likely  to  turn  out  a  drunkard  or 
gambler  and  disgrace  the  profession,  and  he 
added  that  I  had  better  pack  up  my  duds  and 
come  up  to  his  house  and  let  "mother"  take 
care  of  me — and  I  went. 

I  was  not  a  guest  there :  I  paid  my  room- 
rent  and  board  just  as  I  should  have  done 
anywhere  else,  but  I  had  all  the  comforts  of 
a  home,  and  enjoyed  a  thousand  advantages 
that  money  could  not  buy.  I  told  Mrs.  Dil- 
lon all  my  troubles,  and  found  kindly  sym- 
pathy and  advice;  she  encouraged  me  in  all 
my  ambitions,  mended  my  shirts,  and  went 
with  me  when  I  bought  my  clothes.  Inside 
of  a  month,  I  felt  like  one  of  the  family, 
called  Mrs.  Dillon  "mother,"  and  blessed  my 
lucky  stars  that  I  had  found  them. 

Dillon  had  run  a  good  many  years,  and 


AN  ENGINEER'S  CHRISTMAS  STORY     9 

was  heartily  tired  of  it,  and  he  seldom  passed 
a  nice  farm  that  he  did  not  call  my  attention 
to  it,  saying:  "Jack>  now  there's  comfort; 
you  just  wait  a  couple  of  years — I've  got  my 
eye  on  the  slickest  little  place,  just  on  the 

edge  of  M ,  that  I  am  saving  up  my  pile 

to  buy.  I'll  give  you  the  'Roger  William' 
one  of  these  days,  Jack,  say  good  evening 
to  grief,  and  me  and  mother  will  take  com- 
fort. Think  of  sleeping  till  eight  o'clock, 
— and  no  poor  steamers,  Jack,  no  poor 
steamers!"  And  he  would  reach  over,  and 
give  my  head  a  gentle  duck  as  I  tried  to  pitch 
a  curve  to  a  front  corner  with  a  knot :  those 
Hinkleys  were  powerful  on  cold  water. 

In  Dillon's  household  there  was  a  "sys- 
tem" of  financial  management.  He  always 
gave  his  wife  just  half  of  what  he  earned; 
kept  ten  dollars  for  his  own  expenses  during 
the  month,  out  of  which  he  clothed  himself; 
and  put  the  remainder  in  the  bank.  It  was 
before  the  days  of  high  wages,  however,  and 
even  with  this  frugal  management,  the  bank 
account  did  not  grow  rapidly.  They  owned 
the  house  in  which  they  lived,  and  out  of 


IO    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

her  half  "mother"  had  to  pay  all  the  house- 
hold expenses  and  taxes,  clothe  herself  and 
two  children,  and  send  the  children  to 
school.  The  oldest,  a  girl  of  some  sixteen 
years,  was  away  at  normal  school,  and  the 
boy,  about  thirteen  or  fourteen,  was  at  home, 
going  to  the  public  school  and  wearing  out 
more  clothes  than  all  the  rest  of  the  family. 

Dillon  told  me  that  they  had  agreed  on 
the  financial  plan  followed  in  the  family  be- 
fore their  marriage,  and  he  used  to  say  that 
for  the  life  of  him  he  did  not  see  how 
"mother"  got  along  so  well  on  the  allow- 
ance. When  he  drew  a  small  month's  pay 
he  would  say  to  me,  as  we  walked  home :  "No 
cream  in  the  coffee  this  month,  Jack."  If 
it  was  unusually  large,  he  would  say :  "Plum 
duff  and  fried  chicken  for  a  Sunday  dinner." 
He  insisted  that  he  could  detect  the  rate  of 
his  pay  in  the  food,  but  this  was  not  true — it 
was  his  kind  of  fun.  "Mother"  and  I  were 
fast  friends.  She  became  my  banker,  and 
when  I  wanted  an  extra  dollar,  I  had  to  ask 
her  for  it  and  tell  what  I  wanted  it  for,  and 
all  that. 


AN  ENGINEER'S  CHRISTMAS  STORY  1 1 

Along  late  in  November,  Jim  had  to  make 
an  extra  one  night  on  another  engine,  which 
left  me  at  home  alone  with  "mother"  and 
the  boy — I  had  never  seen  the  girl — and 
after  swearing  me  to  be  both  deaf,  dumb, 
and  blind,  "mother"  told  me  a  secret.  For 
ten  years  she  had  been  saving  money  out  of 
her  allowance,  until  the  amount  now  reached 
nearly  $2,000.  She  knew  of  Jim's  life  am- 
bition to  own  a  farm,  and  she  had  the  matter 
in  hand,  if  I  would  help  her.  Of  course  I 
was  head  over  heels  into  the  scheme  at  once. 

She  wanted  to  buy  the  farm  near  M , 

and  give  Jim  the  deed  for  a  Christmas  pres- 
ent ;  and  Jim  mustn't  even  suspect. 

Jim  never  did. 

The  next  trip  I  had  to  buy  some  under- 
clothes :  would  "mother"  tell  me  how  to  pick 
out  pure  wool  ?  Why,  bless  your  heart,  no, 
she  wouldn't,  but  she'd  just  put  on  her  things 
and  go  down  with  me.  Jim  smoked  and 
read  at  home. 

We  went  straight  to  the  bank  where  Jim 
kept  his  money,  asked  for  the  President,  and 
let  him  into  the  whole  plan.  Would  he  take 


1 2  STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

$2,100  out  of  Jim's  money,  unbeknown  to 
Jim,  and  pay  the  balance  of  the  price  of  the 
farm  over  what  "mother"  had? 

No,  he  would  not;  but  he  would  advance 
the  money  for  the  purpose — have  the  deeds 
sent  to  him,  and  he  would  pay  the  price — 
that  was  fixed. 

Then  I  hatched  up  an  excuse  and  changed 

off  with  the  fireman  on  the  M branch, 

and  spent  the  best  part  of  two  lay-overs  fix- 
ing up  things  with  the  owner  of  the  farm 
and  arranging  to  hold  back  the  recording  of 
the  deeds  until  after  Christmas.  Every 
evening  there  was  some  part  of  the  project 
to  be  talked  over,  and  "mother"  and  I  held 
many  whispered  conversations.  Once  Jim, 
smiling,  observed  that,  if  I  had  any  hair  on 
my  face,  he  would  be  jealous. 

I  remember  that  it  was  on  the  I4th  day  of 
December,  1863,  that  payday  came.  I 
banked  my  money  with  "mother,"  and  Jim, 
as  usual,  counted  out  his  half  to  that  dear 
old  financier. 

"Uncle  Sam'd  better  put  that  'un  in  the 
hospital,"  observed  Jim,  as  he  came  to  a  rag- 


AN  ENGINEER'S  CHRISTMAS  STORY   1 3 

ged  ten-dollar  bill.  "Goddess  of  Liberty 
pretty  near  got  her  throat  cut  there;  guess 
some  reb  has  had  hold  of  her,"  he  continued, 
as  he  held  up  the  bill.  Then  laying  it  down, 
he  took  out  his  pocket-book  and  cut  off  a  lit- 
tle three-cornered  strip  of  pink  court-plaster, 
and  made  repairs  on  the  bill. 

"Mother"  pocketed  her  money  greedily, 
and  before  an  hour  I  had  that  very  bill  in  my 
pocket  to  pay  the  recording  fees  in  the  court- 
house at  M . 

The  next  day  Jim  wanted  to  use  more 
money  than  he  had  in  his  pocket,  and  asked 
me  to  lend  him  a  dollar.  As  I  opened  my 
wallet  to  oblige  him,  that  patched  bill  showed 
up.  Jim  put  his  ringer  on  it,  and  then  turn- 
ing me  around  towards  him,  he  said :  "How 
came  you  by  that?" 

I  turned  red — I  know  I  did — but  I  said, 
cool  enough,  "  'Mother'  gave  it  to  me  in 
change." 

"That's  a  lie,"  he  said,  and  turned  away. 

The  next  day  we  were  more  than  two- 
thirds  of  the  way  home  before  he  spoke; 
then,  as  I  straightened  up  after  a  fire,  he 


14    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

said :  "John  Alexander,  when  we  get  in,  you 
go  to  Aleck  (the  foreman)  and  get  changed 
to  some  other  engine." 

There  was  a  queer  look  on  his  face;  it 
was  not  anger,  it  was  not  sorrow — it  was 
more  like  pain.  I  looked  the  man  straight 
in  the  eye,  and  said :  "All  right,  Jim ;  it  shall 
be  as  you  say — but,  so  help  me  God,  I  don't 
know  what  for.  If  you  will  tell  me  what  I 
have  done  that  is  wrong,  I  will  not  make 
the  same  mistake  with  the  next  man  I  fire 
for." 

He  looked  away  from  me,  reached  over 
and  started  the  pump,  and  said :  "Don't  you 
know?" 

"No,  sir,  I  have  not  the  slightest  idea." 

"Then  you  stay,  and  I'll  change,"  said  he, 
with  a  determined  look,  and  leaned  out  of 
the  window,  and  said  no  more  all  the  way  in. 

I  did  not  go  home  that  day.  I  cleaned 
the  "Roger  William"  from  the  top  of  that 
mountain  of  sheet-iron  known  as  a  wood- 
burner  stack  to  the  back  casting  on  the  tank, 
and  tried  to  think  what  I  had  done  wrong, 
or  not  done  at  all,  to  incur  such  displeasure 


AN  ENGINEER'S  CHRISTMAS  STORY  1 5 

from  Dillon.  He  was  in  bed  when  I  went  to 
the  house  that  evening,  and  I  did  not  see  him 
until  breakfast.  He  was  in  his  usual  spirits 
there,  but  on  the  way  to  the  station,  and  all 
day  long,  he  did  not  speak  to  me.  He  noticed 
the  extra  cleaning,  and  carefully  avoided 
tarryshing  any  of  the  cabfittings; — but  that 
awful  quiet!  I  could  hardly  bear  it,  and 
was  half  sick  at  the  trouble,  the  cause  of 
which  I  could  not  understand.  I  thought 
that,  if  the  patched  bill  had  anything  to  do 
with  it,  Christmas  morning  would  clear  it 
up. 

Our  return  trip  was  the  night  express, 
leaving  the  terminus  at  9 130.  As  usual,  that 
night  I  got  the  engine  out,  oiled,  switched 
out  the  cars,  and  took  the  train  to  the  station, 
trimmed  my  signals  and  headlight,  and  was 
all  ready  for  Jim  to  pull  out.  Nine  o'clock 
came,  and  no  Jim;  at  9:10  I  sent  to  his 
boarding-house.  He  had  not  been  there.  He 
did  not  come  at  leaving  time — he  did  not 
come  at  all.  At  ten  o'clock  the  conductor 
sent  to  the  engine-house  for  another  engi- 
neer, and  at  10:45,  instead  of  an  engineer, 


1 6  STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

a  fireman  came,  with  orders  for  John  Alex- 
ander to  run  the  "Roger  William"  until  fur- 
ther orders, — I  never  fired  a  locomotive 
again. 

I  went  over  that  road  the  saddest-hearted 
man  that  ever  made  a  maiden  trip.  I  hoped 
there  would  be  some  tidings  of  Jim  at 
home — there  were  none.  I  can  never  forget 
the  blow  it  was  to  "mother;"  how  she  braced 
up  on  account  of  her  children — but  oh,  that 
sad  face!  Christmas  came,  and  with  it  the 
daughter,  and  then  there  were  two  instead 
of  one :  the  boy  was  frantic  the  first  day,  and 
playing  marbles  the  next. 

Christmas  day  there  came  a  letter.  It  was 
from  Jim — brief  and  cold  enough — but  it 
was  such  a  comfort  to  "mother."  It  was  di- 
rected to  Mary  J.  Dillon,  and  bore  the  New 
York  post-mark.  It  read : 

"Uncle  Sam  is  in  need  of  men,  and  those 
who  lose  with  Venus  may  win  with  Mars. 
Enclosed  papers  you  will  know  best  what  to 
do  with.  Be  a  mother  to  the  children — you 
have  three  of  them. 

"JAMES  DILLON." 


AN  ENGINEER'S  CHRISTMAS  STORY  lj 

He  underscored  the  three — he  was  a  mys- 
tery to  me.  Poor  "mother !"  She  declared 
that  no  doubt  "poor  James's  head  was  af- 
fected." The  papers  with  the  letter  were  a 
will,  leaving:  her  all,  and  a  power  of  attorney, 
allowing  her  to  dispose  of  or  use  the  money 
in  the  bank.  Not  a  line  of  endearment  or 
love  for  that  faithful  heart  that  lived  on  love, 
asked  only  for  love,  and  cared  for  little  else. 

That  Christmas  was  a  day  of  fasting  and 
prayer  for  us.  Many  letters  did  we  send, 
many  advertisements  were  printed,  but  we 
never  got  a  word  from  James  Dillon,  and 
Uncle  Sam's  army  was  too  big  to  hunt  in. 
We  were  a  changed  family:  quieter  and 
more  tender  of  one  another's  feelings,  but 
changed. 

In  the  fall  of  64  they  changed  the  runs 
around,  and  I  was  booked  to  run  in  to  M — . 
Ed,  the  boy,  was  firing  for  me.  There  was 
no  reason  why  "mother"  should  stay  in  Bos- 
ton, and  we  moved  out  to  the  little  farm. 
That  daughter,  who  was  a  second  "mother" 
all  over,  used  to  come  down  to  meet  us  at  the 
station  with  the  horse,  and  I  talked  "sweet" 


1 8          STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

to  her ;  yet  at  a  certain  point  in  the  sweetness 
I  became  dumb. 

Along  in  May,  '65,  "mother"  got  a  pack- 
age from  Washington.  It  contained  a  tin- 
type of  herself;  a  card  with  a  hole  in  it 
(made  evidently  by  having  been  forced  over 
a  button),  on  which  was  her  name  and  the 
old  address  in  town;  then  there  was  a  ring 
and  a  saber,  and  on  the  blade  of  the  saber 
was  etched,  "Presented  to  Lieutenant  Jas. 
Dillon,  for  bravery  on  the  field  of  battle." 
At  the  bottom  of  the  parcel  was  a  note  in  a 
strange  hand,  saying  simply,  "Found  on  the 
body  of  Lieutenant  Dillon  after  the  battle  of 
Five  Forks." 

Poor  "mother!"  Her  heart  was  wrung 
again,  and  again  the  scalding  tears  fell.  She 
never  told  her  suffering,  and  no  one  ever 
knew  what  she  bore.  Her  face  was  a  little 
sadder  and  sweeter,  her  hair  a  little  whiter — 
that  was  all. 

I  am  not  a  bit  superstitious — don't  believe 
in  signs  or  presentiments  or  prenothings — 
but  when  I  went  to  get  my  pay  on  the  I4th 
day  of  December,  1866,  it  gave  me  a  little 


AN  ENGINEER'S  CHRISTMAS  STORY  19 

start  to  find  in  it  the  bill  bearing  the  chromo 
of  the  Goddess  of  Liberty  with  the  little 
three-cornered  piece  of  court-plaster  that 
Dillon  had  put  on  her  wind-pipe.  I  got  rid 
of  it  at  once,  and  said  nothing  to  "mother" 
about  it ;  but  I  kept  thinking  of  it  and  seeing 
it  all  the  next  day  and  night. 

On  the  night  of  the  i6th,  I  was  oiling 
around  my  Black  Maria  to  take  out  a  local 
leaving  our  western  terminus  just  after 
dark,  when  a  tall,  slim  old  gentleman  stepped 
up  to  me  and  asked  if  I  was  the  engineer.  I 
don't  suppose  I  looked  like  the  president :  I 
confessed,  and  held  up  my  torch,  so  I  could 
see  his  face — a  pretty  tough-looking  face. 
The  white  mustache  was  one  of  that  military 
kind,  reinforced  with  whiskers  on  the  right 
and  left  flank  of  the  mustache  proper.  He 
wore  glasses,  and  one  of  the  lights  was 
ground  glass.  The  right  cheek-bone  was 
crushed  in,  and  a  red  scar  extended  across 
the  eye  and  cheek;  the  scar  looked  blue 
around  the  red  line  because  of  the  cold. 

"I  used  to  be  an  engineer  before  the  war," 
said  he.  "Do  you  go  to  Boston !" 


20          STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

"No,  to  M— ." 

"M — !     I  thought  that  was  on  a  branch." 

"It  is,  but  is  now  an  important  manufac- 
turing point,  with  regular  trains  from  there 
to  each  end  of  the  main  line." 

"When  can  I  get  to  Boston  ?" 

"Not  till  Monday  now ;  we  run  no  through 
Sunday  trains.  You  can  go  to  M — with  me 
to-night,  and  catch  a  local  to  Boston  in  the 
morning." 

He  thought  a  minute,  and  then  said, 
"Well,  yes;  guess  I  had  better.  How  is  it 
for  a  ride?" 

"Good ;  just  tell  the  conductor  that  I  told 
you  to  get  on." 

"Thanks;  that's  clever.  I  used  to  know 
a  soldier  who  used  to  run  up  in  this  coun- 
try," said  the  stranger,  musing.  "Dillon; 
that's  it,  Dillon." 

"I  knew  him  well,"  said  I.  "I  want  to 
hear  about  him." 

"Queer  man,"  said  he,  and  I  noticed  he 
was  eying  me  pretty  sharp. 

"A  good  engineer." 

"Perhaps,"  said  he. 


AN  ENGINEER'S  CHRISTMAS  STORY  2 1 

I  coaxed  the  old  veteran  to  ride  on  the  en- 
gine— the  first  coal-burner  I  had  had.  He 
seemed  more  than  glad  to  comply.  Ed  was 
as  black  as  a  negro,  and  swearing  about  coal- 
burners  in  general  and  this  one  in  particular, 
and  made  so  much  noise  with  his  fire-irons 
after  we  started,  that  the  old  man  came  over 
and  sat  behind  me,  so  as  to  be  able  to  talk. 

The  first  time  I  looked  around  after  get- 
ting out  of  the  yard,  I  noticed  his  long  slim 
hand  on  the  top  of  the  reverse-lever.  Did 
you  ever  notice  how  it  seems  to  make  an  ex- 
engineer  feel  better  and  more  satisfied  to  get 
his  hand  on  the  reverse-lever  and  feel  the 
life-throbs  of  the  great  giant  under  him? 
Why,  his  hand  goes  there  by  instinct — just 
as  an  ambulance  surgeon  will  feel  for  the 
heart  of  the  boy  with  a  broken  leg. 

I  asked  the  stranger  to  "give  her  a  whirl," 
and  noticed  with  what  eager  joy  he  took  hold 
of  her.  I  also  observed  with  surprise  that  he 
seemed  to  know  all  about  "four-mile  hill," 
where  most  new  men  got  stuck.  He  caught 
me  looking  at  his  face,  and  touching  the  scar, 
remarked :  "A  little  love  pat,  with  the  com- 


22     STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

pliments  of  Wade  Hampton's  men."  We 
talked  on  a  good  many  subjects,  and  got 
pretty  well  acquainted  before  we  were  over 
the  division,  but  at  last  we  seemed  talked  out. 

"Where  does  Dillon's  folks  live  now?" 
asked  the  stranger,  slowly,  after  a  time. 

"M— ,"  said  I. 

He  nearly  jumped  off  the  box.  "M — ? 
I  thought  it  was  Boston !" 

"Moved  to  M— ." 

"What  for?" 

"Own  a  farm  there." 

"Oh,  I  see;  married  again?" 

"No." 

"No!" 

"Widow  thought  too  much  of  Jim  for 
that." 

"No!" 

"Yes." 

"Er — what  became  of  the  young  man  that 
they — er — adopted  ?" 

"Lives  with  'em  yet." 

"So!" 

Just  then  we  struck  the  suburbs  of  M — , 
and,  as  we  passed  the  cemetery,  I  pointed  to 


'/  noticed  his  long,  slim  hand  on  the  top  of  the  reverse-lever" 

(page  21.) 


AN  ENGINEER'S  CHRISTMAS  STORY  2$ 

a  high  shaft,  and  said:  "Dillon's  monu- 
ment." 

"Why,  how's  that?" 

"Killed  at  Five  Forks.  Widow  put  up 
monument." 

He  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and 
peered  through  the  moonlight  for  a  minute. 

"That's  clever,"was  all  he  said. 

I  insisted  that  he  go  home  with  me.  Ed 
took  the  Black  Maria  to  the  house,  and  we 
took  the  street  cars  for  it  to  the  end  of  the 
line,  and  then  walked.  As  we  cleaned  our 
feet  at  the  door,  I  said :  "Let  me  see,  I  did 
not  hear  your  name?" 

"James,"  said  he,  "Mr.  James." 

I  opened  the  sitting-room  door,  and  ush- 
ered the  stranger  in. 

"Well,  boys,"  said  "mother,"  slowly  get- 
ting up  from  before  the  fire  and  hurriedly 
taking  a  few  extra  stitches  in  her  knitting 
before  laying  it  down  to  look  up  at  us, 
"you're  early." 

She  looked  up,  not  ten  feet  from  the 
stranger,  as  he  took  off  his  slouched  hat  and 
brushed  back  the  white  hair.  In  another 


24     STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

minute  her  arms  were  around  his  neck,  and 
she  was  murmuring  "James"  in  his  ear,  and 
I,  like  a  dumb  fool,  wondered  who  told  her 
his  name. 

Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  it  was 
James  Dillon  himself,  and  the  daughter  came 
in,  and  Ed  came,  and  between  the  three  they 
nearly  smothered  the  old  fellow. 

You  may  think  it  funny  he  didn't  know 
me,  but  don't  forget  that  I  had  been  running 
for  three  years — that  takes  the  fresh  off  a 
fellow;  then,  when  I  had  the  typhoid,  my 
hair  laid  off,  and  was  never  reinstated,  and 
when  I  got  well,  the  whiskers — that  had  al- 
ways refused  to  grow — came  on  with  a  rush, 
and  they  were  red.  And  again,  I  had  tried 
to  switch  with  an  old  hook-motion  in  the 
night  and  forgot  to  take  out  the  starting-bar, 
and  she  threw  it  at  me,  knocking  out  some 
teeth;  and  taking  it  altogether,  I  was  a 
changed  man. 

"Where's  John?"  he  said  finally. 

"Here,"  said  I. 

"No!" 

"Yes." 


AN  ENGINEER'S  CHRISTMAS  STORY  25 

He  took  my  hand,  and  said,  "John,  I  left 
all  that  was  dear  to  me  once,  because  I  was 
jealous  of  you.  I  never  knew  how  you  came 
to  have  that  money  or  why,  and  don't  want 
to.  .  Forgive  me." 

"That  is  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  of 
that,"  said  "mother." 

"I  had  it  to  buy  this  farm  for  you — a 
Christmas  present — if  you  had  waited," 
said  I. 

"That  is  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  of 
that,"  said  he. 

"And  you  might  have  been  shot,"  said 
"mother,"  getting  up  close. 

"I  tried  my  darndest  to  be.  That's  why 
I  got  promoted  so  fast." 

"Oh,  James!"  and  her  arms  were  around 
his  neck  again. 

"And  I  sent  that  saber  home  myself,  never 
intending  to  come  back." 

"Oh,  James,  how  could  you!" 

"Mother,  how  can  you  forgive  me?" 

"Mother,"  was  still  for  a  minute,  looking 
at  the  fire  in  the  grate.  "James,  it  is  late  in 
life  to  apply  such  tests,  but  love  is  like  gold ; 


26  STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

ours  will  be  better  now — the  dross  has  been 
burned  away  in  the  fire.  I  did  what  I  did 
for  love  of  you,  and  you  did  what  you  did 
for  love  of  me;  let  us  all  commence  to  live 
again  in  the  old  way,"  and  those  arms  of  hers 
could  not  keep  away  from  his  neck. 

Ed  went  out  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  I 
beckoned  the  daughter  to  follow  me.  We 
passed  into  the  parlor,  drew  the  curtain  over 
the  doorway — and  there  was  nothing  but 
that  rag  between  us  and  heaven. 


The   Clean   Man   and   the 
Dirty  Angels 


THE  CLEAN  MAN  AND  THE  DIRTY 
ANGELS 

WHEN  I  first  went  firing,  down  in  my 
native  district,  where  Bean  is  King,  there 
was  a  man  on  the  road  pulling  a  mixed  train, 
by  the  name  of  Clark — 'Lige  Clark. 

Being  only  a  fireman,  and  a  new  one  at 
that,  I  did  not  come  very  much  in  contact 
with  Clark,  or  any  of  the  other  engineers, 
excepting  my  own — James  Dillon. 

'Lige  Clark  was  a  character  on  the  road; 
everybody  knew  "old  'Lige;"  he  was  liked 
and  respected,  but  not  loved ;  he  was  thought 
puritanical,  or  religious,  or  cranky,  by  some, 
yet  no  one  hated  him,  or  even  had  a  strong 
dislike  for  him. 

His  honesty  and  straightforwardness  were 
proverbial.  He  was  always  in  charge  of  the 
funds  of  every  order  he  belonged  to,  as  well 

as  of  the  Sunday-school  and  church. 
29 


30    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

He  was  truthful  to  a  fault,  but  above  all, 
just. 

'  'Cause  'tain't  right,  that's  why,"  was  his 
way  of  refusing  to  do  a  thing,  and  his  argu- 
ment against  others  doing  it. 

After  I  got  to  running,  I  saw  and  knew 
more  of  'Lige,  and  I  think,  perhaps,  I  was  as 
much  of  a  friend  as  he  ever  had.  We  never 
were  chums.  I  never  went  to  his  house,  and 
he  never  went  to  mine;  we  were  simply 
roundhouse  acquaintances;  used  to  talk  en- 
gine a  little,  but  usually  talked  about  chil- 
dren— 'Lige  had  four,  and  always  spoke 
about  "doing  the  right  thing  by  them." 

'Lige  had  a  very  heavy  full  beard,  that 
came  clear  up  to  his  eyes,  and  a  mass  of 
wavy  hair — all  iron  grey.  His  eyes  were 
steel  grey,  and  matched  his  hair,  and  he  had 
a  habit  of  looking  straight  at  you  when  he 
spoke. 

On  his  engine  he  invariably  ran  with  his 
head  out  of  the  side  window,  rain  or  shine, 
and  always  bareheaded.  When  he  stepped 
upon  the  footboard,  he  put  his  hat  away  with 
his  clothes,  and  there  it  stayed.  He  was 


CLEAN  MAN  AND  DIRTY  ANGELS     31 

never  known  to  wear  a  cap,  excepting  in  the 
coldest  weather. 

Once  in  a  while,  when  I  was  firing,  I  have 
seen  him  come  in,  in  winter,  with  his  beard 
white  with  frost  and  ice,  and  some  smoke- 
shoveling  wit  dubbed  him  Santa  Claus. 

'Lige  had  a  way  of  looking  straight  ahead 
and  thinking  of  his  work,  and,  after  he  got 
to  running  express,  would  go  through  a 
town,  where  other  trains  were  side-tracked 
for  him,  looking  at  the  track  ahead,  and  at 
the  trains,  but  never  seeming  to  care  that 
they  were  there,  never  nodding  or  waving  a 
hand.  Once  in  a  while  he  would  blink  his 
eyes, — that  was  all.  The  wind  tossed  his 
mane  and  hair  and  made  him  look  for  all  the 
world  like  a  lion,  who  looks  at,  but  appears 
to  care  nothing  for  the  crowds  around  his 
den.  Someone  noticed  the  comparison,  and 
dubbed  him  "The  Lion,"  and  the  name  clung 
to  him.  He  was  spoken  of  as  "Old  'Lige, 
the  Lion."  Just  why  he  was  called  old,  I 
don't  know — he  was  little  more  than  forty 
then. 

When  the  men  on  the  road  had  any  griev- 


32     STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

ances,  they  always  asked  'Lige  to  "go  and  see 
the  old  man."  'Lige  always  went  to  lodge 
and  to  meetings  of  the  men,  but  was  never 
known  to  speak.  When  the  demands  were 
drawn  up  and  presented  to  him,  he  always 
got  up  and  said:  "Them  air  declarations 
ain't  right,  an'  I  wouldn't  ask  any  railroad 
to  grant  'em;"  or,  "The  declarations  are 
right.  Of  course  I'll  be  glad  to  take  'em." 

When  old  'Lige  declined  to  bear  a  griev- 
ance it  was  modified  or  abandoned;  and  he 
never  took  a  request  to  headquarters  that 
was  not  granted — until  the  strike  of  '77. 

When  the  war  broke  out,  'Lige  was  asked 
to  go,  and  the  railroad  boys  wanted  him  to 
be  captain  of  a  company  of  them ;  but  he  de- 
clined, saying  that  slavery  was  wrong  and 
should  be  crushed,  but  that  he  had  a  sickly 
wife  and  four  small  children  depending  on 
his  daily  toil  for  bread,  and  it  wouldn't  be 
right  to  leave  'em  unprovided  for.  They 
drafted  him  later,  but  he  still  said  it  "wa'n't 
right"  for  him  to  go,  and  paid  for  a  substi- 
tute. But  three  months  later  his  father-in- 
law  died,  up  in  the  country  somewhere,  and 


CLEAN  MAN  AND  DIRTY  ANGELS     33 

left  his  wife  some  three  thousand  dollars, 
and  'Lige  enlisted  the  next  day,  saying 
"'Tain't  right  for  any  man  to  stay  that  can 
be  spared;  slavery  ain't  right;  it  must  be 
stopped."  He  served  as  a  private  until  it 
was  stopped. 

Shortly  after  the  war  'Lige  was  pulling 
the  superintendent  over  the  road,  when  he 
struck  a  wagon,  killing  the  driver,  who  was  a 
farmer,  and  hurting  his  wife.  The  woman 
afterward  sued  the  road,  and  'Lige  was 
called  as  a  witness  for  the  company.  He 
surprised  everybody  by  stating  that  the  acci- 
dent was  caused  by  mismanagement  of  the 
road,  and  explained  as  follows:  "I  pull  the 
regular  Atlantic  express,  and  should  have 
been  at  the  crossing  where  the  accident  oc- 
curred, an  hour  later  than  I  was;  but  Mr. 
Doe,  our  superintendent,  wanted  to  come 
over  the  road  with  his  special  car,  and  took 
my  engine  to  pull  him,  leaving  a  freight  en- 
gine to  bring  in  the  express.  Mr.  Doe  could 
have  rode  on  the  regular  train,  or  could  have 
had  his  car  put  into  the  train,  instead  of  put- 
ting the  company  to  the  expense  of  hauling  a 


34  STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

special,  and  kept  the  patrons  of  the  road 
from  slow  and  poor  service.  We  ran  faster 
than  there  was  any  use  of,  and  Mr.  Doe  went 
home  when  he  got  in,  showing  that  there  was 
no  urgent  call  for  his  presence  at  this  end  of 
the  line.  If  there  had  been  no  extra  train 
on  the  road  this  farmer  wouldn't  have  been 
killed :  'twa'n't  right." 

The  widow  got  pretty  heavy  damages,  and 
the  superintendent  tried  to  discharge  'Lige. 
But  'Lige  said  "'twa'n't  right,"  and  the  men 
on  the  road,  the  patrons  and  even  the  presi- 
dent agreed  with  him,  so  the  irate  super, 
gave  the  job  up  for  the  time  being. 

A  couple  of  weeks  after  this,  I  went  to 
that  super.'s  office  on  some  business,  and  had 
to  wait  in  the  outer  pen  until  "His  Grace" 
got  through  with  someone  else.  The  tran- 
som over  the  door  to  the  "Holy  of  Holies" 
was  open,  and  I  heard  the  well-known  voice 
of  'Lige  "the  Lion". 

"Now,  there's  another  matter,  Mr.  Doe, 
that  perhaps  you'll  say  is  none  of  my  busi- 
ness, but  'tain't  right,  and  I'm  going  to  speak 
about  it.  You're  hanging  around  the  yards 


CLEAN  MAN  AND  DIRTY  ANGELS     36 

and  standing  in  the  shadows  of  cars  and 
buildings  half  the  night,  watching  em- 
ployees. You've  discharged  several  yard- 
men, and  I  want  to  tell  you  that  a  lot  of  the 
roughest  of  them  are  laying  for  you.  My 
advice  to  you  is  to  go  home  from  the  office. 
They'll  hurt  you  yet.  'Tain't  right  for  one 
man  to  know  that  another  is  in  danger  with- 
out warning  him,  so  I've  done  it ;  'twouldn't 
be  right  for  them  to  hurt  you.  You're  not 
particularly  hunting  them  but  me,  but  you 
won't  catch  me." 

Mr.  Doe  assured  "the  Lion"  that  he  could 
take  care  of  himself,  and  two  nights  later  got 
sand-bagged,  and  had  about  half  his  ribs 
kicked  loose,  over  back  of  the  scale  house. 

When  the  trouble  commenced  in  '77,  old 
'Lige  refused  to  take  up  a  request  for  in- 
crease of  pay,  to  headquarters ;  said  the  road 
could  afford  to  keep  us  just  where  we  were, 
which  was  more  than  some  roads  were  do- 
ing, and  "'twa'n't  right"  to  ask  for  more. 
Two  months  later  they  cut  us  ten  per  cent., 
and  offered  to  pay  half  script.  Old  'Lige 


3,16 


36    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

said  "'twa'n't  right,"  and  he'd  strike  afore 
he'd  stand  it ; — and,  in  the  end,  we  all  struck. 

The  fourth  day  after  the  strike  com- 
menced I  met  'Lige,  and  he  asked  me  where 
I  was  going  to  hunt  work.  I  told  him  I  was 
going  back  when  we  won.  He  laughed,  and 
said  there  wa'n't  much  danger  of  any  of  us 
going  back;  we  were  beat;  mail  trains  all 
running,  etc.  "'Tain't  right,  Brother  John, 
to  loaf  longer'n  you  can  help.  I'm  goin' 
out  West  to-morrer" — and  he  went. 

Some  weeks  afterward  Joe  Johnson  and  I 
concluded  that,  contrary  to  all  precedent,  the 
road  was  going  to  run  without  us,  and  we 
also  went  West;  but  by  that  time  the  coun- 
try was  full  of  men  just  like  us.  When  I 
did  get  a  job,  it  was  drying  sand  away  out 
at  the  front  on  one  of  the  new  roads.  The 
first  engine  that  come  up  to  the  sand  house 
had  a  familiar  look,  even  with  a  boot-leg 
stack  that  was  fearfully  and  wonderfully 
made.  There  was  a  shaggy  head  sticking 
out  of  the  side  window,  and  two  cool  grey 
eyes  blinked  at  me,  but  didn't  seem  to  see 
me ;  yet  a  cheery  voice  from  under  the  beard 


CLEAN  MAN  AND  DIRTY  ANGELS     $J 

said :  "Hello,  Brother  John,  you're  late,  but 
guess  you'll  catch  on  pretty  quick.  There's 
lots  of  'em  here  that  don't  know  nothin' 
about  railroading,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  and 
they're  running  engines,  too.  'Tain't  right." 

The  little  town  was  booming,  and  'Lige 
invested  in  lots,  and  became  interested  in 
many  schemes  to  benefit  the  place  and  make 
money.  He  had  been  a  widower  for  some 
years,  and  with  one  exception  his  children 
were  doing  for  themselves,  and  that  one  was 
with  his  sister,  and  well  cared  for.  'Lige 
had  considerable  means,  and  he  brought  it  all 
West.  He  personally  laid  the  corner-stone 
of  the  courthouse,  subscribed  more  than  any 
other  working  man  to  the  first  church,  and 
was  treasurer  of  half  the  institutions  in  the 
village.  He  ought  to  have  quit  the  road, 
but  he  wouldn't;  but  did  compromise  on 
taking  an  easy  run  on  a  branch. 

'Lige  was  behind  a  benevolent  scheme  to 
build  a  hospital,  to  be  under, the  auspices  of 
the  church  society,  and  to  it  devoted  not  a 
little  time  and  energy.  When  the  constitu- 
tion and  by-laws  were  drawn  up,  the  more 


38     STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

liberal  of  the  trustees  struck  a  snag  in  old 
'Lige.  He  was  bound  that  the  hospital 
should  not  harbor  people  under  the  influence 
of  liquor,  or  fallen  women.  'Lige  was  very 
bitter  against  prostitution.  "It  is  the  curse 
of  civilization,"  he  often  said.  "Prostitutes 
ruin  ten  men  where  whiskey  ruins  one.  They 
stand  in  the  path  of  every  young  man  in  the 
country,  gilded  tempters  of  virtue,  honesty 
and  manhood ;  'tain't  right  that  they  should 
be  allowed  in  the  country."  If  you  attributed 
their  existence  to  man's  passions,  inhuman- 
ity or  cruelty,  or  woman's  weakness,  he 
checked  you  at  once. 

"Every  woman  that  becomes  a  crooked 
woman  does  so  from  choice;  she  needn't  to 
if  she  didn't  want  to.  The  way  to  stop 
prostitution  is  for  every  honest  man  and 
woman  to  refuse  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
them  in  any  way,  or  with  those  who  do  rec- 
ognize them.  'Tain't  right." 

In  this  matter  'Lige  Clark  had  no  sympa- 
thy nor  charity.  "Twa'n't  right" — and  that 
settled  it  as  far  as  he  was  concerned. 

The  ladies  of  the  church  sided  with  old 


CLEAN  MAN  AND  DIRTY  ANGELS     39 

'Lige  in  his  stand  on  the  hospital  board,  but 
the  other  two  men  wanted  the  doors  of  the 
institution  to  be  opened  to  all  in  need  of 
medical  attention  or  care,  regardless  of  who 
they  were  or  what  caused  their  ailment. 
'Lige  gave  in  on  the  whiskey,  but  stood  out 
resolutely  against  the  soiled  doves,  and  so 
matters  stood  until  midwinter. 

Half  the  women  in  the  town  were  outcasts 
from  society — two  dance-houses  were  in  full 
blast — and  'Lige  soon  became  known  to 
them  and  their  friends  as  the  "Prophet  Eli- 
jah, second  edition." 

The  mining  town  over  the  hills,  at  the  end 
of  'Lige's  branch,  was  booming,  too,  and 
wanted  to  be  the  county  seat.  It  had  its 
church,  dance-halls,  etc.,  and  the  discovery 
of  coal  within  a  few  miles  bid  fair  to  make 
it  a  formidable  rival. 

The  boom  called  for  more  power  and  I 
went  over  there  to  pull  freight,  and  'Lige 
pulled  passengers  only.  Then  they  put  more 
coaches  on  his  train  and  put  my  engine 
on  to  help  him,  thus  saving  a  crew's 
wages.  Passenger  service  increased  stead- 


40     STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

ily  until  a  big  snow-slide  in  one  of  the 
gulches  shut  up  the  road.  I'll  never  forget 
that  slide.  It  happened  on  the  26th  of  Janu- 
ary. 'Lige  and  I  were  double-heading  on 
nine  coaches  of  passengers  and  when  on  a 
heavy  grade  in  Alder  Gulch,  a  slide  of  snow 
started  from  far  up  the  mountain-side,  swept 
over  the  track  just  ahead  of  us,  carrying 
trees,  telegraph  poles  and  the  track  with  it. 
We  tried  to  stop,  but  'Lige's  engine  got  into 
it,  and  was  carried  sideways  down  some  fifty 
or  sixty  feet.  Mine  contented  herself  with 
simply  turning  over,  without  hurting  either 
myself  or  fireman — much  to  my  satisfaction. 

'Lige  fared  worse.  His  reverse  lever 
caught  in  his  clothing  and  before  he  could 
get  loose,  the  engine  had  stopped  on  her  side, 
with  'Lige's  feet  and  legs  under  her.  He 
was  not  badly  hurt  except  for  the  scalding 
water  that  poured  upon  him.  As  soon  as 
we  could  see  him,  the  fireman  and  I  got  hold 
of  him  and  forcibly  pulled  him  out  of  the 
wreck.  His  limbs  were  awfully  burned — 
cooked  would  be  nearer  the  word. 

The  passengers  crowded  around,  but  did 


CLEAN  MAN  AND  DIRTY  ANGELS     41 

little  good.  One  look  was  enough  for  most 
of  them.  There  were  ten  or  twelve  women 
in  the  cars.  They  came  out  slowly,  and  stood 
timidly  away  from  the  hissing  boilers,  with 
one  exception.  This  one  came  at  once  to 
the  injured  man,  sat  down  in  the  snow,  took 
his  head  in  her  lap,  and  taking  a  flask  of 
liquor  from  her  ulster  pocket,  gave  poor 
'Lige  some  with  a  little  snow. 

I  got  the  oil  can  and  poured  some  oil  over 
the  burned  parts  to  keep  the  air  from  them ; 
we  needed  bandages,  and  I  asked  the  ladies 
if  they  had  anything  we  could  use  for  the 
purpose.  One  young  girl  offered  a  hand- 
kerchief and  another  a  shawl,  but  before  they 
were  accepted  the  cool  woman  holding 
'Lige's  head  got  up  quickly,  laying  his  head 
down  tenderly  on  the  snow,  and  without  a 
word  or  attempt  to  get  out  of  sight,  pulled 
up  her  dress,  and  in  a  second  kicked  out  two 
white  skirts,  and  sat  down  again  to  cool 
'Lige's  brow. 

That  woman  attended  'Lige  like  a  guar- 
dian angel  until  we  got  back  to  town  late 
that  afternoon.  The  hospital  was  not  yet 


42     STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

in  shape,  so  'Lige  was  taken  to  the  rather 
dreary  and  homeless  quarters  of  the  hotel. 

As  quick  as  it  was  known  that  Elijah 
Clark  was  hurt,  he  had  plenty  of  friends, 
male  and  female,  who  came  to  take  care  of 
him,  but  the  woman  who  helped  him  live  at 
the  start  came  not ;  yet  every  day  there  were 
dainty  viands,  wine  or  books  left  at  the 
house  for  him — but  pains  were  taken  to  let 
no  one  know  from  whom  they  came. 

One  day  a  month  after  the  accident  I  sat 
beside  'Lige's  bed  when  he  told  me  that  he 
was  anticipating  quite  a  discussion  there  that 
evening,  as  the  hospital  committee  was  going 
to  meet  to  decide  on  the  rules  of  the  institu- 
tion. "Wilcox  and  Gorman  are  set  to  open 
the  house  to  those  who  have  no  part  in  our 
work  and  no  sympathy  with  Christian  insti- 
tutions, and  'tain't  right,"  said  he.  "Brother 
John,  you  can't  do  no  good  by  prolonging 
the  life  of  a  brazen  woman  bent  on  vice." 

"Don't  you  think,  'Lige,"  said  I,  "that  you 
are  a  little  hard  on  an  unfortunate  class  of 
humanity,  who,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  are 
the  victims  of  others'  wrong-doing,  and  stay 


CLEAN  MAN  AND  DIRTY  ANGELS     43 

in  the  mire  because  no  hand  is  extended  to 
help  them  out?  Think  of  the  woman  of 
Samaria.  It's  sinners,  not  saints,  that  need 
saving." 

"They  are  as  a  coiled  serpent  in  the  path- 
way of  mankind,  Brother  John,  fascinating, 
but  poisonous.  There  can  be  no  good  in  one 
of  those  creatures." 

"Oh  yes  there  is,  I'm  sure,"  said  I.  "Why, 
'Lige,  don't  you  know  who  the  woman  was 
that  gave  you  brandy,  held  your  head,  and 
used  her  skirts  for  bandages  when  you  were 
hurt?" 

Old  'Lige  raised  up  on  his  elbow,  all  eager- 
ness. "No,  John,  I  don't,  but  she  wa'n't 
one  of  them.  She  was  too  thoughtful,  too 
tender,  too  womanly.  I've  blessed  her  from 
that  day  to  this,  and  though  I  don't  know  it, 
I  think  she  has  sent  me  all  these  wines  and 
fruits.  She  saved  my  life.  Who  is  she? 
Do  you  know  ?" 

"Yes.  She  is  Molly  May,  who  keeps  the 
largest  dance-house  in  Cascade  City.  She 
makes  lots  of  money,  but  spends  it  all  in 
charity ;  there  has  never  been  a  human  being 


44     STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

buried  by  the  town  since  she  has  been  there. 
Molly  May  is  a  ministering  angel  to  the  poor 
and  sick,  but  a  bird  of  prey  to  those  who 
wish  to  dissipate." 

The  hospital  was  opened  on  Easter,  and 
the  first  patient  was  a  poor  consumptive  girl, 
but  lately  an  inmate  of  the  Red-Light  dance- 
house.  'Lige  Clark  did  not  run  again;  he 
became  mayor  of  the  little  city,  had  faith  in 
its  future,  invested  his  money  in  land  and 
died  rich  some  years  ago. 

'Lige  must  have  changed  his  mind  as  he 
grew  older,  or  at  least  abandoned  the  idea 
that  to  crush  out  a  wrong  you  should  push  it 
from  all  sides,  and  thus  compress  and  in- 
tensify it  at  the  heart,  and  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  the  right  way  is  to  get  inside  and 
push  out,  thus  separating  and  dissolving  it. 
For  before  me  lies  the  tenth  annual  prospec- 
tus of  a  now  noted  institution  in  one  of  the 
great  cities  of  the  continent,  and  on  its  title 
page,  I  read  through  the  dimmed  glasses  of 
my  spectacles:  "Industrial  Home  and  Ref- 
uge for  Fallen  Women.  Founded  by  Elijah 
Clark.  Mary  E.  May,  Matron." 


Jim   Wainright's   Kid 


45 


JIM    WAINRIGHT'S  KID 

As  I  put  down  my  name  and  the  number 
of  the  crack  engine  of  America — as  well  as 
the  imprint  of  a  greasy  thumb — on  the  reg- 
ister of  our  roundhouse  last  Saturday  night, 
the  foreman  borrowed  a  chew  of  my  fire- 
man's fine-cut,  and  said  to  me : 

"John,  that  old  feller  that's  putting  on  the 
new  injectors  wants  to  see  you." 

"What  does  he  want,  Jack?"  said  I.  "I 
don't  remember  to  have  seen  him,  and  I'll  tell 
you  right  now  that  the  old  squirts  on  the  411 
are  good  enough  for  me — I  ain't  got  time  to 
monkey  with  new-fangled  injectors  on  that 
run." 

"Why,  he  says  he  knowed  you  out  West 
fifteen  years  ago." 

"So!  What  kind  o'  looking  chap  is  he?" 

"Youngish  face,  John ;  but  hair  and  whis- 
kers as  white  as  snow.  Sorry-looking 

47 


48  STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

rooster — seems  like  he's  lost  all  his  friends 
on  earth,  and  wa'n't  jest  sure  where  to  find 
'em  in  the  next  world." 

"I  can't  imagine  who  it  would  be.  Let's 
see — 'Lige  Clark,  he's  dead;  Dick  Bellin- 
ger, Hank  Baldwin,  Jim  Karr,  Dave  Keller, 
Bill  Parr — can't  be  none  of  them.  What's 
his  name  ?" 

"Winthrop — no,  Wetherson — no,  lemme 
see — why,  no — no,  Wainright;  that's  it, 
Wainright;  J.  E.  Wainright." 

"Jim  Wainright!"  says  I,  "Jim  Wain- 
right!  I  haven't  heard  a  word  of  him  for 
years — thought  he  was  dead;  but  he's  a 
young  fellow  compared  to  me." 

"Well,  he  don't  look  it,"  said  Jack. 

After  supper  I  went  up  to  the  hotel  and 
asked  for  J.  E.  Wainright. 

Maybe  you  think  Jim  and  I  didn't  go  over 
the  history  of  the  "front."  "Out  at  the 
front"  is  the  pioneer's  ideal  of  railroad  life. 
To  a  man  who  has  put  in  a  few  years  there 
the  memory  of  it  is  like  the  memory  of 
marches,  skirmishes,  and  battles  in  the  mind 
of  the  veteran  soldier.  I  guess  we  started 


JIM  WAINRIGHTS  KID  49 

at  the  lowest  numbered  engine  on  the  road, 
and  gossiped  about  each  and  every  crew. 
We  had  finished  the  list  of  engineers  and 
had  fairly  started  on  the  firemen  when  a 
thought  struck  me,  and  I  said : 

"Oh,  I  forgot  him,  Jim — the  'Kid,'  your 
cheery  little  cricket  of  a  firesy,  who  thought 
Jim  Wainright  the  only  man  on  the  road 
that  could  run  an  engine  right.  I  remember 
he  wouldn't  take  a  job  running  switcher — 
said  a  man  that  didn't  know  that  firing  for 
Jim  Wainright  was  a  better  job  than  run- 
ning was  crazy.  What's  become  of  him? 
Running,  I  suppose?" 

Jim  Wainright  put  his  hand  up  to  his  eyes 
for  a  minute,  and  his  voice  was  a  little  husky 
as  he  said : 

"No,  John,  the  Kid  went  away — " 

"Went  away?" 

"Yes,  across  the  Great  Divide — dead." 

"That's  tough,"  said  I,  for  I  saw  Jim 
felt  bad.  "The  Kid  and  you  were  like  two 
brothers." 

"John,  I  loved  the—" 


5o  STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

Then  Jim  broke  down.  He  got  his  hat 
and  coat,  and  said : 

"John,  let's  get  out  into  the  air — I  feel  all 
choked  up  here;  and  I'll  tell  you  a  strange, 
true  story — the  Kid's  story." 

As  we  got  out  of  the  crowd  and  into  Bos- 
ton Common,  Jim  told  his  story,  and  here  it 
is,  just  as  I  remember  it — and  I'm  not  bad 
at  remembering. 

"I'll  commence  at  the  beginning,  John,  so 
that  you  will  understand.  It's  a  strange 
story,  but  when  I  get  through  you'll  recall 
enough  yourself  to  prove  its  truth. 

"Before  I  went  beyond  the  Mississippi 
and  under  the  shadows  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, I  fired,  and  was  promoted,  on  a  prairie 
road  in  the  Great  Basin  well  known  in 
the  railway  world.  I  was  much  like  the  rest 
of  the  boys  until  I  commenced  to  try  to  get 
up  a  substitute  for  the  link  motion.  I  read 
an  article  in  a  scientific  paper  from  the  pen  of 
a  jackass  who  showed  a  Corliss  engine  card, 
and  then  blackguarded  the  railroad  mechan- 
ics of  America  for  being  satisfied  with  the 
link  because  it  was  handy.  I  started  in  to 


JIM  WAINRIGHTS  KID  5 1 

design  a  motion  to  make  a  card,  but — well, 
you  know  how  good-for-nothing  those 
things  are  to  pull  loads  with. 

"After  my  first  attempt,  I  put  in  many 
nights  making  a  wooden  model  for  the  Pat- 
ent Office.  I  was  subsequently  informed  that 
the  child  of  my  brain  interfered  with  about 
ten  other  motions.  Then  I  commenced  to 
think — which  I  ought  to  have  done  before. 
I  went  to  studying  what  had  been  done,  and 
soon  came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  just  knew 
a  little — about  enough  to  get  along  running. 
I  gave  up  hope  of  being  an  inventor  and  a 
benefactor  of  mankind,  but  study  had  awak- 
ened in  me  the  desire  for  improvement ;  and 
after  considerable  thought  I  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  best  thing  I  could  do  was 
to  try  to  be  the  best  runner  on  the  road,  just 
as  a  starter.  In  reality,  in  my  inmost  soul, 
my  highest  ideal  was  the  master  mechanic's 
position. 

"I  was  about  twenty-five  years  old,  and 
had  been  running  between  two  or  three 
years,  with  pretty  good  success,  when  one 
day  the  general  master  mechanic  sent  for  me. 


52     STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

In  the  office  I  was  introduced  to  a  gentleman, 
and  the  G.  M.  M.  said  to  him  in  my  presence : 

"  This  is  the  engineer  I  spoke  to  you  of. 
We  have  none  better.  I  think  he  would  suit 
you  exactly,  and,  when  you  are  through  with 
him,  send  him  back;  we  are  only  lending 
him,  mind,'  and  he  went  out  into  the  shop. 

"The  meaning  of  it  all  was  that  the 
stranger  represented  a  firm  that  had  put  up 
the  money  to  build  a  locomotive  with  a  pat- 
ent boiler  for  burning  a  patent  fuel — she  had 
an  improved  valve  motion,  too — and  they 
had  asked  our  G.  M.  M.  for  a  good  engineer, 
to  send  East  and  break  in  and  run  the  new 
machine  and  go  with  her  around  the  country 
on  ten-day  trials  on  the  different  roads. 
He  offered  good  pay,  it  was  work  I  liked, 
and  I  went.  I  came  right  here  to  Boston 
and  reported  to  the  firm.  They  were  a  big 
concern  in  another  line,  and  the  head  of  the 
house  was  a  relative  of  our  G.  M.  M. — that's 
why  he  had  a  chance  to  send  me. 

"After  the  usual  introductions,  the  presi- 
dent said  to  me : 

"  'Now,  Mr.  Wainright,  this  new  engine 


JIM  WAINRIGHTS  KID  53 

of  ours  is  hardly  started  yet.  The  drawings 
are  done,  and  the  builders'  contract  is  ready 
to  sign;  but  we  want  you  to  look  over  the 
drawings,  to  see  if  there  are  any  practical 
suggestions  you  can  make.  Then  stay  in 
the  shops,  and  see  that  the  work  is  done 
right.  The  inventor  is  not  a  practical  man ; 
help  him  if  you  can,  for  experience  tells  us 
that  ten  things  fail  because  of  bad  design 
where  one  does  because  of  bad  manipulation. 
Come  up  into  the  drawing-room,  and  I  will 
introduce  you  to  the  inventor.' 

"Up  under  the  skylight  I  met  the  designer 
of  the  new  engine,  a  mild  little  fellow — but 
he  don't  figure  in  this  story.  In  five  min- 
utes I  was  deep  in  the  study  of  the  drawings. 
Everything  seemed  to  be  worked  out  all 
right,  except  that  they  had  the  fire-door 
opening  the  wrong  way  and  the  brake-valve 
couldn't  be  reached — but  many  a  good 
builder  did  that  twenty  years  ago.  I  was 
impressed  with  the  beauty  of  the  drawings — 
they  were  like  lithographs,  and  one,  a  per- 
spective, was  shaded  and  colored  hand- 
somely. I  complimented  him  on  them. 


54    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

"  They  are  beautiful,  sir,'  he  said ;  'they 
were  made  by  a  lady.  I'll  introduce  you  to 
her.' 

"A  bright,  plain-faced  little  woman  with 
a  shingled  head  looked  up  from  her  drawing- 
board  as  we  approached,  shook  hands  cor- 
dially when  introduced,  and  at  once  entered 
into  an  intelligent  discussion  of  the  plans  of 
the  new  record-beater. 

"Well,  it  was  some  months  before  the  en- 
gine was  ready  for  the  road,  and  in  that  time 
I  got  pretty  well  acquainted  with  Miss  Rey- 
nolds. She  was  mighty  plain,  but  sharp  as  a 
buzz-saw.  I  don't  think  she  was  really 
homely,  but  she'd  never  have  been  arrested 
for  her  beauty.  There  was  something  'fetch- 
ing' about  her  appearance — you  couldn't 
help  liking  her.  She  was  intelligent,  and  it 
was  such  a  novelty  to  find  a  woman  who 
knew  the  smoke  stack  from  the  steam  chest 
I  didn't  fall  in  love  with  her  at  all,  but  I  liked 
to  talk  to  her  over  the  work.  She  told  me 
her  story ;  not  all  at  once,  but  here  and  there 
a  piece,  until  I  knew  her  history  pretty  well. 

"It  seems  that  her  father  had  been  chief 


JIM  WAINRIGHT'S  KID  55 

draughtsman  of  those  works  for  years,  but 
had  lately  died.  She  had  a  strong  taste  for 
mechanics,  and  her  father,  who  believed  in 
women  learning  trades,  had  taught  her  me- 
chanical drawing,  first  at  home  and  then  in 
the  shop.  She  had  helped  in  busy  times  as 
an  extra,  but  never  went  to  work  for  regular 
wages  until  the  death  of  her  father  made  it 
necessary. 

"She  seemed  to  like  to  hear  stories  of  the 
road,  and  often  asked  me  to  tell  her  some 
thrilling  experience  the  second  time.  Her 
eyes  sparkled  and  her  face  kindled  when  I 
touched  on  a  snow-bucking  experience.  She 
often  said  that  if  she  was  a  man  she'd  go  on 
the  railroad,  and  after  such  a  remark  she 
would  usually  sigh  and  smile  at  the  same 
time.  One  day,  when  the  engine  was  pretty 
nearly  ready,  she  said  to  me : 

"  'Mr.  Wainright,  who  is  going  to  fire  the 
Experiment  ?' 

"  'I  don't  know.  I  had  forgot  about  that; 
I'll  have  to  see  about  it.' 

"  'It  wouldn't  be  of  much  use  to  get  an 


56  STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

experienced  man,  would  it — the  engine  will 
burn  a  new  fuel  in  a  new  way  ?' 

"  'No,'  said  I,  'not  much.' 

"  'Now,'  said  she,  coloring  a  little,  'let  me 
ask  a  favor  of  you.  I  have  a  brother  who 
is  just  crazy  to  go  out  firing.  I  don't  want 
him  to  go  unless  it's  with  a  man  I  can  trust ; 
he  is  young  and  inexperienced,  you  know. 
Won't  you  take  him  ?  Please  do.' 

"  'Why,  I'll  be  glad  to,'  said  I.  Til  speak 
to  the  old  man  about  it.' 

"  'Don't  tell  him  it's  my  brother.' 

"  'Well,  all  right.' 

"The  old  man  told  me  to  hire  whoever  I 
liked,  and  I  told  Miss  Reynolds  to  bring  the 
boy  in  the  morning. 

"  'Won't  you  wait  until  Monday  ?  It  will 
be  an  accommodation  to  me.' 

"Of  course  I  waited. 

"The  next  day  Miss  Reynolds  did  not 
come  to  the  office,  and  I  was  busy  at  the 
shop.  Monday  came,  but  no  Miss  Reynolds. 
About  nine  o'clock,  however,  the  foreman 
came  down  to  the  Experiment  with  a  boy, 


JIM  WAINRIGHTS  KID  57 

apparently  about  eighteen  years  old,  and  said 
there  was  a  lad  with  a  note  for  me. 

"Before  reading  the  note  I  shook  hands 
with  the  boy,  and  told  him  I  knew  who  he 
was,  for  he  looked  like  his  sister.  He  was 
small,  but  wiry,  and  had  evidently  come  pre- 
pared for  business,  as  he  had  some  over- 
clothes  under  his  arm  and  a  pair  of  buck- 
skin gloves.  He  was  bashful  and  quiet,  as 
boys  usually  are  during  their  first  experience 
away  from  home.  The  note  read : 

"  'DEAR  MR.  WAINRIGHT. — This  will  be 
handed  you  by  brother  George.  I  hope  you 
will  be  satisfied  with  him.  I  know  he  will 
try  to  please  you  and  do  his  duty ;  don't  for- 
get how  green  he  is.  I  am  obliged  to  go 
into  the  country  to  settle  up  some  of  my  fa- 
ther's affairs  and  may  not  see  you  again  be- 
fore you  go.  I  sincerely  hope  the  "Experi- 
ment," George,  and  his  engineeer  will  be  suc- 
cessful. I  shall  watch  you  all. 

"  'G.  E.  REYNOLDS/ 

"I  felt  kind  of  cut  up,  somehow,  about  go- 
ing away  without  bidding  Old  Business — as 
the  other  draughtsman  called  Miss  Reynolds 


58  STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

— good-by ;  but  I  was  busy  with  the  engine. 

"The  foreman  came  along  half  an  hour 
after  the  arrival  of  young  Reynolds,  and  see- 
ing him  at  work  cleaning  the  window  glass, 
asked  who  he  was. 

"  'The  fireman,'  said  I. 

"'What!  that  kid?' 

"And  from  that  day  I  don't  think  I  ever 
called  young  Reynolds  by  any  other  name 
half  a  dozen  times.  That  was  the  'Kid'  you 
knew.  When  it  came  quitting  time  that 
night,  I  asked  the  Kid  where  they  lived,  and 
he  said,  Charlestown.  I  remarked  that  his 
voice  was  like  his  sister's;  but  he  laughed, 
and  said  I'd  see  difference  enough  if  they 
-were  together;  and  bidding  me  good-night, 
caught  a  passing  car. 

"We  broke  the  Experiment  in  for  a  few 
days,  and  then  tackled  half  a  train  for  Provi- 
dence. She  would  keep  her  water  just  about 
hot  enough  to  wash  in  with  the  pump  on. 
It  was  a  tough  day;  I  was  in  the  front  end 
half  the  time  at  every  stop.  The  Kid  did  ex- 
actly what  I  told  him,  and  was  in  good  spirits 


JIM  WAINRIGHTS  KID  59 

all  the  time.     I  was  cross.      Nothing  will 
make  a  man  crosser  than  a  poor  steamer. 

"We  got  to  Providence  in  the  evening 
tired;  but  after  supper  the  Kid  said  he  had 
an  aunt  and  her  family  living  there,  and  if  I 
didn't  mind,  he'd  try  to  find  them.  I  left  the 
door  unlocked,  and  slept  on  one  side  of  the 
bed,  but  the  Kid  didn't  come  back ;  he  was  at 
the  engine  when  I  got  there  the  next  morn- 
ing. 

"The  Kid  was  such  a  nice  little  fellow  I 
liked  to  have  him  with  me,  and,  somehow  or 
other  (I  hardly  noticed  it  at  the  time),  he 
had  a  good  influence  on  me.  In  them  days 
I  took  a  drink  if  I  felt  like  it ;  but  the  Kid  got 
me  into  the  habit  of  taking  lemonade,  and 
wouldn't  go  into  drinking  places,  and  I  soon 
quit  it.  He  gave  me  many  examples  of  con- 
trolling my  temper,  and  soon  got  me  into  the 
habit  of  thinking  before  I  spoke. 

"We  played  horse  with  that  engine  for 
four  or  five  weeks,  mostly  around  town,  but  I 
could  see  it  was  no  go.  The  patent  fuel 
was  no  good,  and  the  patent  fire-box  little 
better,  and  I  advised  the  firm  to  put  a  stand- 


60          STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

ard  boiler  on  her  and  a  pair  of  links,  and  sell 
her  while  the  paint  was  fresh.  They  took 
my  advice. 

"The  Kid  and  I  took  the  engine  to  H  ink- 
ley's,  and  left  her  there;  we  packed  up  our 
overclothes,  and  as  we  walked  away,  the  Kid 
asked :  'What  will  you  do  now,  Jim  ?' 

"  'Oh,  I've  had  a  nice  play,  and  I'll  go 
back  to  the  road.  I  wish  you'd  go  along.' 

"  'I  wouldn't  like  anything  better;  will 
you  take  me  ?' 

"  'Yes,  but  I  ain't  sure  that  I  can  get  you  a 
job  right  away/ 

"  'Well,  I  could  fire  for  you,  couldn't  I?' 
'  'I'd  like  to  have  you,  Kid ;  but  you  know 
I  have  a  regular  engine  and  a  regular  fire- 
man. I'll  ask  for  you,  though.' 

"  'I  won't  fire  for  anybody  else !' 

"  'You  won't !  What  would  you  do  if  I 
should  die?' 

"  'Quit.' 

"'Get  out!' 

"  'Honest ;  if  I  can't  fire  for  you,  I  won't 
fire  at  all.' 

"I  put  in  a  few  days  around  the  'Hub,' 


JIM  WAINRIGHTS  KID  6 1 

and  as  I  had  nothing  to  do,  my  mind  kept 
turning  to  Miss  Reynolds.  I  met  the  Kid 
daily,  and  on  one  of  our  rambles  I  asked  him 
where  his  sister  was. 

"  'Out  in  the  country.' 

"  'Send  word  to  her  that  I  am  going  away 
and  want  to  see  her,  will  you,  Kid  ?' 

"  'Well,  yes ;  but  Sis  is  funny ;  she's  too 
odd  for  any  use.  I  don't  think  she'll  come.' 

"  'Well,  I'll  go  and  see  her.' 

"  'No,  Sis  would  think  you  were  crazy.' 

"  'Why?  Now  look  here  Kid,  I  like  that 
sister  of  yours,  and  I  want  to  see  her.' 

"But  the  Kid  just  stopped,  leaned  against 
the  nearest  building,  and  laughed — laughed 
until  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks.  The 
next  day  he  brought  me  word  that  his  sister 
had  gone  to  Chicago  to  make  some  sketches 
for  the  firm  and  hoped  to  come  to  see  us 
after  she  was  through.  I  started  for  Chi- 
cago the  day  following,  the  Kid  with  me. 

"I  had  little  trouble  in  getting  the  Kid  on 
with  me,  as  my  old  fireman  had  been  pro- 
moted. I  had  a  nice  room  with  another 
plug-puller,  and  in  a  few  days  I  was  in  the 


62 

old  jog — except  for  the  Kid.  He  refused  to 
room  with  my  partner's  fireman;  and  when 
I  talked  to  him  about  saving  money  that 
way,  he  said  he  wouldn't  room  with  any  one 
— not  even  me.  Then  he  laughed,  and  said 
he  kicked  so  that  no  one  could  room  with 
him.  The  Kid  was  the  butt  of  all  the  fire- 
men on  account  of  his  size,  but  he  kept  the 
cleanest  engine,  and  was  never  left  nor  late, 
and  seemed  more  and  more  attached  to  me — 
and  I  to  him. 

"Things  were  going  along  slick  enough 
when  Daddy  Daniels  had  a  row  with  his  fire- 
man, and  our  general  master  mechanic  took 
the  matter  up.  Daniels'  fireman  claimed  the 
run  with  me,  as  he  was  the  oldest  man,  and, 
as  they  had  an  'oldest  man'  agreement,  the 
master  mechanic  ordered  Smutty  Kelly  and 
the  Kid  changed. 

"I  was  not  in  the  roundhouse  when  the 
Kid  was  ordered  to  change,  but  he  went  di- 
rect to  the  office  and  kicked,  but  to  no  pur- 
pose. Then  he  came  to  me. 

"  'Jim/  said  he,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  'are 
you  satisfied  with  me  on  the  12?' 


JIM  WAINRIGHTS  KID  63 

"  'Why,  yes,  Kid.    Who  says  I'm  not?' 

"  'They've  ordered  me  to  change  to  the 
17  with  that  horrible  old  ruffian  Daniels,  and 
Smutty  Kelly  to  go  with  you.' 

"  They  have !'  says  I.  'That  slouch  can't 
go  out  with  me  the  first  time ;  I'll  see  the  old 
man.' 

"But  the  old  man  was  mad  by  the  time  I 
got  to  him. 

"  'That  baby-faced  boy  says  he  won't  fire 
for  anybody  but  you;  what  have  you  been 
putting  into  his  head  ?' 

"  'Nothing ;  I've  treated  him  kindly,  and 
he  likes  me  and  the  12 — that's  the  cleanest 
engine  on  the — ' 

"  'Tut,  tut,  I  don't  care  about  that;  I've 
ordered  the  firemen  on  the  12  and  17 
changed — and  they  are  going  to  be  changed/ 

"The  Kid  had  followed  me  into  the  office, 
and  at  this  point  said,  very  respectfully : 

"  'Excuse  me,  sir,  but  Mr.  Wainright  and 
I  get  along  so  nicely  together.  Daniels  is  a 
bad  man;  so  is  Kelly;  and  neither  will  get 
along  with  decent  men.  Why  can't  you — 


64    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

"  There !  stop  right  there,  young  man. 
Now,  will  you  go  on  the  17  as  ordered ?' 

"  'Yes,  if  Jim  Wainright  runs  her.' 

"  'No  ifs  about  it ;  will  you  go  ?' 

"'No,  sir,  I  won't!' 

"  'You  are  discharged,  then.' 

"  'That  fires  me,  too,'  said  I. 

"  'Not  at  all,  not  at  all ;  this  is  a  fireman 
row,  Jim.' 

"I  don't  know  what  struck  me  then,  but  I 
said: 

"  'No  one  but  this  boy  shall  put  a  scoop 
of  coal  in  the  12  or  any  other  engine  for  me; 
I'll  take  the  poorest  run  you  have,  but  the 
Kid  goes  with  me.' 

"Talk  was  useless,  and  in  the  end  the  Kid 
and  I  quit  and  got  our  time. 

"That  evening  the  Kid  came  to  my  room 
and  begged  me  to  take  my  job  back  and  he 
would  go  home;  but  I  wouldn't  do  it,  and 
asked  him  if  he  was  sick  of  me. 

"  'No,  Jim,'  said  he.  'I  live  in  fear  that 
something  will  happen  to  separate  us,  but  I 
don't  want  to  be  a  drag  on  you — I  think 
more  of  you  than  anybodv,' 


JIM  WAINRIGHTS  KID  65 

"They  were  buying  engines  by  the  hun- 
dred on  the  Rio  Grande  and  Santa  Fe  and 
the  A.  &  P.  in  those  days,  and  the  Kid  and  I 
struck  out  for  the  West,  and  inside  of  thirty 
days  we  were  at  work  again. 

"We  had  been  there  three  months,  I  guess, 
when  I  got  orders  to  take  a  new  engine  out 
to  the  front  and  leave  her,  bringing  back  an 
old  one.  The  last  station  on  the  road  was 
in  a  box-car,  thrown  out  beside  the  track  on  a 
couple  of  rails.  There  was  one  large,  rough- 
board  house,  where  they  served  rough-and- 
ready  grub  and  let  rooms.  The  latter  were 
stalls,  the  partitions  being  only  about  seven 
feet  high.  It  was  cold  and  bleak,  but  right 
glad  we  were  to  get  there  and  get  a  warm 
supper.  Everything  was  rough,  but  the  Kid 
seemed  to  enjoy  the  novelty.  After  supper 
I  asked  the  landlord  if  he  could  fix  us  for  the 
night. 

"  'I  can  jest  fix  ye,  and  no  more,'  said  he; 
'I  have  just  one  room  left.  Ye's'll  have  to 
(double  up ;  but  this  is  the  kind  o'  weather  for 
that ;  it'll  be  warmer.' 

"The    Kid    objected,    but    the    landlord 


66  STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

bluffed  him — didn't  have  any  other  room — 
and  he  added :  'If  I  was  your  pardner  there, 
I'd  kick  ye  down  to  the  foot,  such  a  cold 
strip  of  bacon  as  ye  must  be/ 

"About  nine  o'clock  the  Kid  slipped  out, 
and  not  coming  in  for  an  hour,  I  went  to 
look  for  him.  As  I  went  toward  the  engine, 
I  met  the  watchman : 

"  'Phy  don't  that  fireman  o'  yourn  sleep 
in  the  house  or  on  the  caboose  floor  such  a 
night  as  this?  He'll  freeze  up  there  in  that 
cab  wid  no  blankets  at  all ;  but  when  I  tould 
him  that,  he  politely  informed  meself  that 
he'd  knowed  men  to  git  rich  mindin'  their 
own  biz.  He's  a  sassy  slip  of  a  Yankee.' 

"I  climbed  up  on  the  big  consolidation, 
and,  lighting  my  torch,  looked  over  the 
boiler-head  at  the  Kid.  He  was  lying  on  a 
board  on  the  seat,  with  his  overcoat  for  a 
covering  and  an  arm-rest  for  a  pillow. 

"'What's  the  matter  with  you,  Kid?'  I 
asked.  'What  are  you  doing  freezing  here 
when  we  can  both  be  comfortable  and  warm 
in  the  house  ?  Are  you  ashamed  or  afraid  to 
sleep  with  me?  I  don't  like  this  for  a  cent/ 


JIM  WAINRIGHT'S  KID  6? 

"  'Hope  you  won't  be  mad  with  me,  Jim, 
but  I  won't  sleep  with  any  one ;  there  now !' 

"  'You're  either  a  fool  or  crazy,'  said  I. 
'Why,  you  will  half  freeze  here.  I  want 
some  explanation  of  such  a  trick  as  this.' 

"The  Kid  sat  up,  looked  at  me  soberly  for 
a  few  seconds,  reached  up  and  unhooked  his 
door,  and  said : 

"  'Come  over  and  sit  down,  Jim,  and  I'll 
tell  you  something.' 

"I  blew  out  the  torch  and  went  over,  half 
mad.  As  I  hooked  the  door  to  keep  out  the 
sharp  wind  I  thought  I  heard  a  sob,  and  I 
took  the  Kid's  head  in  my  hands  and  turned 
his  face  to  the  moonlight.  There  were  big 
tears  in  the  corner  of  each  tightly  closed  eye. 

"  'Don't  feel  bad,  Kid,'  said  I.  'I'm  sure 
there's  some  reason  keeps  you  at  such  tricks 
as  this ;  but  tell  me  all  your  trouble — it's  im- 
aginary, I  know/ 

"There  was  a  tremor  in  the  Kid's  voice 
as  he  took  my  hand  and  said,  'We  are 
friends,  Jim;  ain't  we?' 

"  'Why,  of  course,'  said  I. 

"  'I  have  depended  on  your  friendship  and 


68          STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

kindness  and  manhood,  Jim.  It  has  never 
failed  me  yet,  and  it  won't  now,  I  know.  I 
have  a  secret,  Jim,  and  it  gnaws  to  be  out 
one  day,  and  hides  itself  the  next.  Many 
and  many  a  time  I  have  been  on  the  point  of 
confessing  to  you,  but  something  held  me 
back.  I  was  afraid  you  would  not  let  me 
stay  with  you,  if  you  knew — ' 

"  'Why,  you  ain't  killed  any  one,  Kid?'  I 
asked,  for  I  thought  he  was  exaggerating 
his  trouble. 

"  'No — yes,  I  did,  too — I  killed  my  sister.' 

"I  recoiled,  hurt,  shocked.     'You ' 

"  'Yes,  Jim,  there  is  no  such  person  to  be 
found  as  my  sister,  Georgiana — for  I  am 
she!' 

'"You!     Why,  Kid,  you're  crazy!' 
"  'No,  I'm  not.     Listen,  Jim,  and  I  will 
explain.' 

"  'My  father  was  always  sorry  I  was  not  a 
boy.  Taught  me  boyish  tricks,  and  made 
me  learn  drawing.  I  longed  for  the  life  on 
a  locomotive — I  loved  it,  read  about  it, 
thought  of  it,  and  prayed  to  be  transformed 
into  something  that  could  go  out  on  the  road. 


JIM  WAINRIGHTS  KID  69 

My  heart  went  out  to  you  early  in  our  ac- 
quaintance, and  one  day  the  thought  to  get 
started  as  a  fireman  with  you  shot  into  my 
brain  and  was  acted  upon  at  once.  After 
the  first  move  there  was  no  going  back,  and 
I  have  acted  my  part  well ;  I  have  even  been 
a  good  fireman.  I  am  strong,  healthy,  and 
happy  when  on  the  road  with  you.  I  love 
the  life,  hard  as  it  is,  and  can't  think  of  giv- 
ing it  up,  and — and  you,  Jim.' 

"And  then  she  broke  down,  and  cried  as 
only  a  woman  can. 

"I  took  both  her  hands  in  mine  and  kissed 
her — think  of  kissing  your  fireman  on  the 
engine — and  told  her  that  we  could  be  happy 
yet.  Then  I  told  her  how  I  had  tried  to  get 
a  letter  to  the  lost  sister,  and  how  they  never 
came  back,  and  were  never  answered — that  I 
loved  the  sister  and  loved  her.  She  reminded 
me  that  she  herself  got  all  the  letters  I  had 
sent,  and  was  pretty  sure  of  her  ground  when 
she  threw  herself  on  my  protection. 

"It  was  a  strange  courting,  John,  there 
on  that  engine  at  the  front,  the  boundless 
plains  on  one  side,  the  mountains  on  the 


70    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

other,  the  winds  of  the  desert  whirling  sand 
and  snow  against  our  little  house,  and  the 
moon  looking  coldly  down  at  the  spectacle  of 
an  engineer  making  love  to  his  fireman. 

"That  night  the  Kid  slept  in  the  bed  in 
the  house,  and  I  stayed  on  the  engine. 

"When  we  got  back  to  headquarters  the 
Kid  laid  off  to  go  home,  and  I  made  a  trip  or 
two  with  another  fireman,  and  then  I  had  to 
go  to  Illinois  to  fix  up  some  family  business 
— Kid  and  I  arranged  that. 

"We  met  in  St.  Louis,  the  Kid  hired  a  ball 
dress,  and  we  were  married  as  quiet  as  pos- 
sible. I  had  promised  the  Kid  that,  for  the 
present  at  least,  she  could  stay  on  the  road 
with  me,  and  you  know  that  the  year 
you  were  there  I  done  most  of  the  heavy  fir- 
ing while  the  Kid  did  the  running.  We  re- 
mained in  the  service  for  something  like  two 
years — a  strange  couple,  but  happy  in  each 
other's  company  and  our  work. 

"I  often  talked  to  my  wife  about  leaving 
the  road  and  starting  in  new,  where  we  were 
not  known,  as  man  and  wife,  she  to  remain 
at  home ;  but  she  wouldn't  hear  of  it,  asking 


JIM  WAINRIGHT'S  KID  Jl 

if  I  wanted  an  Irishman  for  a  side-partner. 
This  came  to  be  a  joke  with  us — 'When  I 
get  my  Irishman  I  will  do  so-and-so.' 

"One  day,  as  our  'hog'  was  drifting  down 
the  long  hill,  the  Kid  said  to  me,  'Jim,  you 
can  get  your  Irishman;  I'm  going  to  quit 
this  trip.' 

"  'Kind  o'  sudden,  hey,  Kid?' 

"  'No,  been  hating  to  give  up,  but — '  and 
then  the  Kid  came  over  and  whispered  some- 
thing to  me. 

"John,  we  both  quit  and  went  South.  I 
got  a  job  in  Texas,  and  the  Kid  was  lost 
sight  of,  and  Mrs.  J.  E.  Wainright  appeared 
on  the  scene  in  tea-gown,  train,  and  flounces. 
We  furnished  a  neat  little  den,  and  I  was 
happy.  I  missed  my  kid  fireman,  and  did 
indeed  have  an  Irishman.  Kid  had  a  strug- 
gle to  wear  petticoats  again,  and  did  not 
take  kindly  to  dish-washing,  but  we  were 
happy  just  the  same. 

"Our  little  fellow  arrived  one  spring  day, 
and  then  our  skies  were  all  sunshiny  for 
three  long,  happy  years,  until  one  day  Kid 
and  I  followed  a  little  white  hearse  out  be- 


72  STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

yond  the  cypress  grove  and  saw  the  earth 
covered  over  our  darling,  over  our  hopes, 
over  our  sunshine,  and  over  our  hearts. 

"After  that  the  house  was  like  a  tomb,  so 
still,  so  solemn,  and  at  every  turn  were  re- 
minders of  the  little  one  who  had  faded  away 
like  the  morning  mist,  gone  from  everything 
but  our  memories — there  his  sweet  little  im- 
age was  graven  by  the  hand  of  love  and 
seared  by  the  branding-iron  of  sorrow. 

"Men  and  women  of  intelligence  do  not 
parade  their  sorrows  in  the  market-place; 
they  bear  them  as  best  they  can,  and  try  to 
appear  as  others,  but  once  the  specter  of  the 
grim  destroyer  has  crossed  the  threshold,  his 
shadow  forever  remains,  a  dark  reminder, 
like  a  prison-bar  across  the  daylight  of  a  cell. 
This  shadow  is  seen  and  recognized  in  the 
heart  of  a  father,  but  it  is  larger  and  darker 
and  more  dreadful  in  the  mother  heart. 

"At  every  turn  poor  Kid  was  mutely  re- 
minded of  her  loss,  and  her  heart  was  at  the 
breaking  point  day  by  day,  and  she  begged 
for  her  old  life,  to  seek  forgetfulness  in  toil 
and  get  away  from  herself.  So  we  went 


JIM  WAIN  RIGHT'S  KID  73 

back  to  the  old  road,  as  we  went  away — Jim 
Wainright  and  Kid  Reynolds — and  glad 
enough  they  were  to  get  us  again  for  the 
winter  work. 

"Three  years  of  indoor  life  had  softened 
the  wiry  muscles  of  the  Kid,  and  our  engine 
was  a  hard  steamer,  so  I  did  most  of  the 
work  on  the  road.  But  the  work,  excite- 
ment, and  outdoor  life  brought  back  the 
color  to  pale  cheeks,  and  now  and  then  a 
smile  to  sad  lips — and  I  was  glad. 

"One  day  the  Kid  was  running  while 
I  broke  up  some  big  lumps  of  coal,  and  while 
busy  in  the  tank  I  felt  the  air  go  on  full  and 
the  reverse  lever  come  back,  while  the  wheels 
ground  sand.  I  stepped  quickly  toward  the 
cab  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  when  the 
Kid  sprang  into  the  gangway  and  cried 
'Jump!' 

"I  was  in  the  left  gangway  in  a  second, 
but  quick  as  a  flash  the  Kid  had  my  arm. 

"The  other  side !    Quick!    The  river!' 

"We  were  almost  side  by  side  as  she 
swung  me  toward  the  other  side  of  the  en- 
gine, and  jumped  as  we  crashed  into  a  land- 


74  STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

slide.  I  felt  Kid's  hand  on  my  shoulder  as 
I  left  the  deck — just  in  time  to  save  my  life, 
but  not  the  Kid's. 

"She  was  crushed  between  the  tank  and 
boiler  in  the  very  act  of  keeping-  me  from 
jumping  to  certain  death  on  the  rocks  in  the 
river  below. 

"When  the  crew  came  over  they  found 
me  with  the  crushed  clay  of  my  poor,  loved 
Kid  in  my  arms,  kissing  her.  They  never 
knew  who  she  was.  I  took  her  back  to  our 
Texas  home  and  laid  her  beside  the  little  one 
that  had  gone  before.  The  Firemen's 
Brotherhood  paid  Kid's  insurance  to  me  and 
passed  resolutions  saying:  'It  has  pleased 
Almighty  God  to  remove  from  our  midst  our 
beloved  brother,  George  Reynolds,'  etc.,  etc. 

"George  Reynolds's  grave  cannot  be 
found;  but  over  a  mound  of  forget-me-nots 
away  in  a  Southern  land,  there  stands  a 
stone  on  which  is  cut:  'Georgiana,  wife  of 
J.  E.  Wainright,  aged  thirty-two  years.' 

"But  in  my  heart  there  is  a  golden  pyra- 
mid of  love  to  the  memory  of  a  fireman  and 
a  sweetheart  known  to  you  and  all  the  world 
but  me,  as  'Jrni  Wainright's  Kid.' ' 


A  Peg-Legged   Romance 


A  PEG-LEGGED  ROMANCE 

SOME  men  are  born  heroes,  some  become 
heroic,  and  some  have  heroism  thrust  upon 
them ;  but  nothing  of  the  kind  ever  happened 
to  me. 

I  don't  know  how  it  is ;  but,  some  way  or 
other,  I  remember  all  the  railroad  incidents 
I  see  or  hear,  and  get  to  the  bottom  of  most 
of  the  stories  of  the  road.  I  must  study  them 
over  more  than  most  men  do,  or  else  the 
other  fellows  enjoy  the  comedies  and  deplore 
the  tragedies,  and  say  nothing.  Sometimes 
I  am  mean  enough  to  think  that  the  romance, 
the  dramas,  and  the  tragedies  of  the  road 
don't  impress  them  as  being  as  interesting 
as  those  of  the  plains,  the  Indians,  or  the 
seas — people  are  so  apt  to  see  only  the  every- 
day side  of  life  anyway,  and  to  draw  all  their 
romance  and  heroics  from  books. 

I  helped  make  a  hero  once — no,  I  didn't 
77 


78     STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

either;  I  helped  make  the  golden  setting 
after  the  rough  diamond  had  shown  its 
value. 

Miles  Diston  pulled  freight  on  our  road 
a  few  years  ago.  He  was  of  medium  stat- 
ure, dark  complexion,  but  no  beauty.  He 
was  a  manly-looking  fellow,  well-educated 
enough,  sober,  and  a  steady-going,  reliable 
engineer;  you  would  never  pick  him  out  for 
a  hero.  Miles  was  young  yet — not  thirty — 
but,  somehow  or  other,  he  had  escaped  mat- 
rimony :  I  guess  he  had  never  had  time.  He 
stayed  on  the  farm  at  home  until  he  was  of 
age,  and  then  went  firing,  so  that  when  I  first 
knew  him  he  had  barely  got  to  his  goal — the 
throttle. 

A  good  many  men,  when  they  first  get 
there,  take  great  interest  in  their  work  for  a 
few  months — until  experience  gives  them 
confidence;  then  they  take  it  easier,  look 
around,  and  take  some  interest  in  other 
things.  Most  of  them  never  hope  to  get 
above  running,  and  so  sit  down  more  or  less 
contented,  get  married,  buy  real  estate,  gam- 
ble, or  grow  fat,  each  according  to  the  die- 


A  PEG-LEGGED  ROMANCE  79 

tates  of  his  own  conscience  or  the  inclina- 
tions of  his  make-up.  Miles  figured  a  little 
on  matrimony. 

I  can't  explain  it ;  but  when  a  railroad  man 
is  in  trouble,  he  comes  to  me  for  advice,  just 
as  he  would  go  to  the  company  doctor  for 
kidney  complaint.  I  am  a  specialist  in  heart 
troubles.  Miles  came  to  me. 

Miles  was  like  the  rest  of  them.  They 
don't  come  right  down  and  say,  "Some- 
thing's the  matter  with  me ;  what  would  you 
do  for  it?"  No,  sir!  They  hem  and  haw, 
and  laugh  off  the  symptoms,  until  you  come 
right  out  and  tell  them  just  how  they  feel 
and  explain  the  cause ;  then  they  will  do  any- 
thing you  say.  Miles  hemmed  and  hawed 
a  little,  but  soon  came  out  and  showed  his 
symptoms — he  asked  me  if  I  had  ever  no- 
ticed the  "Frenchman's"  girl. 

"The  Frenchman,"  be  it  known,  was  our 
boss  bridge  carpenter.  He  lived  at  a  small 
place  half-way  over  my  division — I  was  pull- 
ing express — and  the  freights  stopped  there, 
changing  engines.  I  knew  Venot,  the  bridge 
carpenter,  very  well ;  met  him  in  lodge  occa- 


8o          STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

sionally,  and  once  in  a  while  he  rode  on  the 
engine  with  me  to  inspect  bridges.  His  wife 
was  a  Canadian  woman,  and  good-looking 
for  her  forty  years  and  ten  children.  The 
daughter  that  was  killing  Miles  Diston, 
Marie  Venot,  was  the  eldest,  and  had  just 
graduated  from  some  sisters'  school.  She 
was  a  very  handsome  girl,  and  you  could 
read  the  romantic  nature  of  her  being 
through  her  big,  round,  gray  eyes.  She  was 
vivacious,  and  loved  to  go;  but  she  was  a 
dutiful  daughter,  and  at  once  took  hold  to 
help  her  mother  in  a  way  that  made  her  all 
the  more  adorable  in  the  eyes  of  practical 
men  like  Miles. 

Miles  made  the  most  of  his  opportunities. 

But,  bless  you,  there  were  other  eyes  for 
good-looking  girls  besides  those  in  poor 
Miles  Diston's  head,  and  he  was  far  from 
having  the  field  to  himself;  this  he  wanted 
badly,  and  came  to  get  advice  from  me. 

I  advised  strongly  against  wasting  energy 
to  clear  the  field,  and  in  favor  of  putting  it 
all  into  making  the  best  show  and  in  getting 
ahead  of  all  competitors.  Under  my  advice, 


A  PEG-LEGGED  ROMANCE  8 1 

Miles  disposed  of  some  vacant  lots,  and 
bought  a  neat  little  house,  put  it  in  thorough 
order,  and  made  the  best  of  his  opportunities 
with  Marie. 

Marie  came  to  our  house  regularly,  and  I 
had  good  opportunity  to  study  her.  She  was 
a  sensible  little  creature,  and,  to  my  mind, 
just  the  girl  for  Miles,  as  Miles  was  just  the 
man  for  her.  But  she  had  confided  to  my 
wife  the  fact  that  she  never,  never  could  con- 
sent to  marry  and  settle  down  in  the  regula- 
tion, humdrum  way;  she  wanted  to  marry 
a  hero,  some  one  she  could  look  up  to — a 
king  among  men. 

My  wife  told  her  that  kings  and  heroes 
were  scarce  just  then,  and  that  a  lot  of  pretty 
good  women  managed  to  be  comparatively 
happy  with  common  railroad  men.  But  Ma- 
rie wanted  a  hero,  and  would  hear  of  noth- 
ing less. 

It  was  during  one  of  her  visits  to  my 
house  that  Miles  took  Marie  out  for  a  ride 
and  (accidentally,  of  course)  dropped 
around  by  his  new  house,  induced  her  to  look 
at  it,  and  told  his  story,  asking  her  to  make 


82     STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

the  home  complete.  It  would  have  caught 
almost  any  girl;  but  when  Miles  delivered 
her  at  our  door  and  drove  off,  I  knew  that 
there  would  be  a  "For  Rent"  card  on  that 
house  in  a  few  days  and  that  Marie  Venot 
was  bound  to  have  a  hero  or  nothing. 

Miles  took  his  repulse  calmly,  but  it  hurt. 
He  told  me  that  Marie  was  hunting  for  a  dif- 
ferent kind  of  man  from  him;  said  that  he 
thought  perhaps  if  he  would  enlist,  and  go 
out  to  fight  Sitting  Bull,  and  come  home  in 
a  new,  brass-bound  uniform,  with  a  poisoned 
arrow  sticking  out  of  his  breast,  she  would 
fall  at  his  feet  and  worship  him.  She  told 
him  she  liked  him  better  than  any  of  the 
town  boys ;  his  calling  was  noble  enough  and 
hard  enough ;  but  she  failed  to  see  her  ideal 
hero  in  a  man  with  blue  overclothes  on  and 
cinders  in  his  ears.  If  any  of  Miles's  com- 
petitors had  rescued  a  drowning  child,  or 
killed  a  bear  with  a  penknife,  at  this  junc- 
ture, I'm  afraid  Marie  would  have  taken 
him.  But,  as  I  have  indicated,  it  was  a  dull 
season  for  heroes. 

About  this  time  our  road  invested  in  some 


A  PEG-LEGGED  ROMANCE  83 

mogul  passenger  engines,  and  I  drew  one. 
I  didn't  like  the  boiler  sticking  back  between 
me  and  Dennis  Rafferty.  I  didn't  like  six 
wheels  connected.  I  didn't  like  a  knuckle- 
joint  in  the  side  rod.  I  didn't  like  eighteen- 
inch  cylinders.  I  was  opposed  to  solid-end 
rods.  And  I  am  afraid  I  belonged  to  a  class 
of  ignorant,  short-sighted,  bull-headed  en- 
gineers who  didn't  believe  that  a  railroad 
had  any  right  to  buy  anything  but  fifteen  by 
twenty-two  eight-wheelers  —  the  smaller 
they  were  the  more  men  they  would  want. 
I  got  over  that  a  long  time  ago ;  but,  at  the 
time  I  write  of,  I  was  cranky  about  it.  The 
moguls  were  high  and  short  and  jerky,  and 
they  tossed  a  man  around  like  a  rat  in  a  corn- 
popper.  One  day,  as  I  was  chasing  time 
over  our  worst  division,  holding  on  to  the 
arm-rest  and  watching  to  see  if  the  main 
frame  touched  the  driving-boxes  as  she 
rolled,  Dennis  Rafferty  punched  me  in  the 
small  of  the  back,  and  said :  "Jann>  f°r  tne 
love  ave  the  Vargin,  lave  up  on  her  a  minit. 
Oi  does  be  chasing  that  dure  for  the  lasth 


84  STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

twinty  minits,  and  dang  the  wan'st  has  I  hit 
it  fair.  She's  the  divil  on  th'  dodge." 

Dennis  had  a  pile  of  coal  just  inside  and 
just  outside  of  the  door,  the  forward  grates 
were  bare,  the  steam  was  down,  and  I  went 
in  seven  minutes  late,  too  mad  to  eat — and 
that's  pretty  mad  for  me.  I  laid  off,  and 
Miles  Diston  took  the  high-roller  out  next 
trip. 

Miles  didn't  rant  and  write  letters  or 
poetry,  or  marry  some  one  else  to  spite  him- 
self, or  take  the  first  steamer  for  Burraga, 
or  Equatorial  Africa,  as  rejected  lovers  in 
stories  do.  It  hurt,  and  he  didn't  enjoy  it, 
but  he  bore  up  all  right,  and  went  about  his 
business,  just  as  hundreds  of  other  sensible 
men  do  every  day.  He  gave  up  entirely, 
however,  rented  his  house,  and  said  he 
couldn't  fill  the  bill — there  wasn't  a  hero  in 
his  family  as  far  back  as  he  could  remember. 

Miles  had  been  making  time  with  the 
Black  Maria  for  about  a  week,  when  the  big 
accident  happened  in  our  town.  The  boilers 
in  a  cotton  mill  blew  up,  and  killed  a  score  of 
girls  and  injured  hundreds  more.  Miles  was 


A  PEG-LEGGED  ROMANCE  85 

at  the  other  end  of  the  division,  and  they 
hurried  him  out  to  take  a  car-load  of  doc- 
tors down.  They  were  given  the  right  of 
the  road,  and  Miles  tested  the  speed  of  that 
mogul — proving  that  a  pony  truck  would 
stay  on  the  track  at  fifty  miles  an  hour, 
which  a  lot  of  us  "cranks"  had  disputed. 

A  few  miles  out  there  is  a  coaling-station, 
and  at  that  time  they  were  building  the 
chutes.  One  of  the  iron  drop-aprons  fell 
just  before  Miles  with  the  mogul  got  to  it; 
it  smashed  the  headlight,  dented  the  stack, 
ripped  up  the  casing  of  the  sand-box  and 
dome,  cut  a  slit  in  the  jacket  the  length  of 
the  boiler,  tore  off  the  cab,  struck  the  end 
of  the  first  car,  and  then  tore  itself  loose,  and 
fell  to  the  ground. 

The  throttle  was  knocked  wide  open,  and 
the  mogul  was  flying.  Miles  was  thrown 
down,  his  head  cut  open  by  a  splinter,  and 
his  foot  pretty  badly  hurt.  He  picked  him- 
self up  instantly,  and  took  a  look  back  as  he 
closed  the  throttle.  Everything  was  "com- 
ing" all  right,  he  remembered  the  emer- 
gency of  the  case,  and  opened  the  throttle 


86 


again.  A  hasty  inspection  showed  the  en- 
gine in  condition  to  run — she  only  looked 
crippled.  Miles  had  to  stand  up.  His  foot 
felt  numb  and  weak,  so  he  rested  his  weight 
on  the  other  foot.  He  was  afraid  he  would 
fall  off  if  he  became  faint,  and  he  had  Den- 
nis take  off  the  bell-cord  and  tie  it  around 
his  waist,  throwing  a  loop  over  the  reverse 
lever,  as  a  measure  of  safety.  The  right 
side  of  the  cab  and  all  the  roof  were  gone, 
so  that  Miles  was  in  plain  sight.  The  cut  in 
his  scalp  bled  profusely,  and  in  trying  to 
wipe  the  blood  from  his  eyes,  he  merely 
spread  it  all  over  himself,  so  that  he  looked 
as  if  he  had  been  half  murdered. 

It  was  this  apparition  of  wreck,  ruin,  and 
concentrated  energy  that  Marie  Venot  saw 
flash  past  her  father's  door,  hastening  to 
the  relief  of  the  victims  of  a  worse  disaster, 
forty  miles  away. 

Her  father  came  home  for  his  dinner  in  a 
few  minutes  from  his  little  office  in  the  de- 
pot. To  his  daughter's  eager  inquiry  he  said 
there  had  been  some  big  accident  in  town 
and  the  "extra"  was  carrying  doctors  from 


A  PEG-LEGGED  ROMANCE  87 

up  the  road.  But  what  was  the  matter  with 
the  engine,  he  didn't  know;  it  was  the  170; 
so  it  was  old  man  Alexander,  he  said — and 
that's  the  nearest  I  ever  came  to  being  a 
hero. 

Marie  knew  who  was  running  the  170 
pretty  well;  so  after  dinner  she  went  to  the 
telegraph  office  for  information,  and  there 
she  learned  that  the  special  had  struck  the 
new  coal  chute  at  Coalton  and  that  the  en- 
gineer was  hurt.  It  was  time  she  ran  down 
to  see  Mrs.  Alexander,  she  said,  and  that 
afternoon's  regular  delivered  her  in  town. 

Like  all  other  railroaders  not  better  em- 
ployed, I  dropped  round  to  the  depot  at  train 
time  to  talk  with  the  boys  and  keep  track  of 
things  in  general.  The  regular  was  late,  but 
Miles  Diston  was  coming  with  a  special,  and 
came  while  we  were  talking  about  it.  Miles 
didn't  realize  how  badly  he  was  hurt  until 
he  stopped  the  mogul  in  front  of  the  gen- 
eral office.  So  long  as  the  excitement  of 
the  run  was  on,  so  long  as  he  saw  the  abso- 
lute necessity  of  doing  his  whole  duty  until 
the  desired  end  was  accomplished,  so  long  as 


88     STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

he  had  a  reputation  to  protect,  his  will  power 
subordinated  all  else.  But  when  several  of 
us  engineers  ran  up  to  the  engine,  we  found 
Miles  hanging  to  the  reverse  lever  by  his 
safety  cord,  in  a  dead  faint.  We  carried 
him  into  the  depot,  and  one  of  the  doctors 
administered  some  restorative.  Then  we  got 
a  hack  and  started  him  and  the  doctor  for 
my  house;  but  Miles  came  to  himself,  and 
insisted  on  going  to  his  boarding-house  and 
nowhere  else. 

Mrs.  Bailey,  Miles's  boarding-house 
keeper,  had  been  a  trained  nurse,  but  had 
a  few  years  before  invested  in  a  rather  disap- 
pointing matrimonial  venture.  She  was  one 
of  the  best  nurses  and  one  of  the  "crankiest" 
women  I  ever  knew.  I  believe  she  was  ac- 
tually glad  to  see  Miles  come  home  hurt, 
just  to  show  how  she  could  pull  him  through. 

The  doctor  found  that  Miles  had  an  ankle 
out  of  joint ;  the  little  toe  was  badly  crushed ; 
there  was  a  bad  cut  in  the  leg,  that  had  bled 
profusely ;  there  was  a  black  bruise  over  the 
short  ribs  on  the  right  side,  and  there  was 
a  button-hole  in  the  scalp  that  needed  about 


A  PEG-LEGGED  ROMANCE  89 

four  stitches.  The  little  toe  was  cut  off 
without  ceremony,  the  ankle  replaced  and 
hot  bandages  applied,  and  other  repairs  were 
made,  which  took  up  most  of  the  afternoon. 

When  the  doctor  got  through,  he  called 
Mrs.  Bailey  and  myself  out  into  the  parlor, 
and  said  that  we  must  not  let  people  crowd 
in  to  see  the  patient;  that  his  wounds  were 
not  dangerous,  but  very  painful;  that  Miles 
was  weak  from  loss  of  blood,  and  that  his 
constitution  was  not  in  particularly  good 
condition.  The  doctor,  in  fact,  thought  that 
Miles  would  be  in  great  luck  if  he  got  out 
of  the  scrape  without  a  run  of  fever.  There- 
after Mrs.  Bailey  referred  all  visitors  to  me. 
I  talked  with  the  doctor  and  the  nurse,  and 
we  all  agreed  that  it  would  stop  most  in- 
quisitive people  to  simply  say  that  the  pa- 
tient had  suffered  an  amputation. 

That  evening,  when  I  went  home,  there 
were  two  anxious  women  to  receive  me,  and 
the  younger  of  them  looked  suspiciously  as 
if  she  had  been  crying.  I  told  them  some- 
thing of  the  accident,  how  it  all  happened, 
and  about  Miles's  injuries.  Both  of  them 


90     STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

wanted  to  go  right  down  and  help  "do  some- 
thing," but  I  told  them  of  the  doctor's  order 
and  of  his  fears. 

By  this  time  the  reporters  came;  and  I 
called  them  into  the  parlor,  and  then  let  them 
pump  me.  I  detailed  the  accident  in  full, 
but  declined  to  tell  anything  about  Miles  or 
his  history.  "The  fact  is,"  said  I,  "that  you 
people  won't  give  an  engineer  his  just  dues. 
Now,  if  Miles  Diston  had  been  a  fireman 
and  had  climbed  down  a  ladder  with  a  child, 
you  would  have  his  picture  in  the  paper  and 
call  him  a  hero  and  all  that  sort  of  thing; 
but  here  is  a  man  crushed,  bleeding,  with 
broken  bones,  and  a  crippled  engine,  who 
stands  on  one  foot,  lashed  to  his  reverse 
lever,  for  eighty  miles,  and  making  the  fast- 
est time  ever  made  over  the  road,  because  he 
knew  that  others  were  suffering  for  the  re- 
lief he  brought." 

"That's  nerve,"  said  one  of  the  young 
men. 

"Nerve !"  said  I,  "nerve !  Why,  that  man 
knows  no  more  about  fear  than  a  lion;  and 
think  of  the  sand  of  the  man!  This  after- 


A  PEG-LEGGED  ROMANCE  $1 

noon  he  sat  up  and  watched  the  doctor  per- 
form that  amputation  without  a  quiver;  he 
wouldn't  take  chloroform ;  he  wouldn't  even 
lie  down." 

"Was  the  amputation  above  or  below  the 
knee?"  asked  the  reporter. 

"Below"  (I  didn't  state  how  far). 

"Which  foot?" 

"Left." 

"He  is  in  no  great  danger?" 

"Yes,  the  doctor  says  he  will  be  a  very 
sick  man  for  some  time — if  he  recovers  at 
all.  Boys,"  I  added,  "there's  one  thing  you 
might  mention — and  I  think  you  ought  to — 
and  that  is  that  it  is  such  heroes  as  this  that 
give  a  road  its  reputation;  people  feel  as 
though  they  were  safe  behind  such  men." 

If  Miles  Diston  had  read  the  papers  the 
next  morning  he  would  have  died  of  flattery ; 
the  reporters  did  themselves  proud,  and  they 
made  a  whole  column  of  the  "iron  will  and 
nerves  of  steel"  shown  in  that  "amputation 
without  ether." 

Marie  Venot  was  full  of  sympathy  for 
Miles ;  she  wanted  to  see  him,  but  Mrs.  Bai- 


92  STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

ley  referred  her  to  me,  and  she  finally  went 
home,  still  inquiring  every  day  about  him. 
I  don't  think  she  had  much  other  feeling  for 
him  than  pity.  She  was  down  again  a  week 
later,  and  I  talked  freely  of  going  to  pick  out 
a  wooden  foot  for  Miles,  who  was  improv- 
ing right  along. 

Meanwhile,  the  papers  far  and  near  copied 
the  articles  about  the  "Hero  of  the  Throt- 
tle," and  the  item  about  the  road's  interest 
in  heroes  attracted  the  attention  of  our  gen- 
eral passenger  agent — he  liked  the  free  ad- 
vertising and  wanted  more  of  it — so  he 
called  me  in  one  day,  and  asked  if  I  knew 
of  a  choice  run  they  could  give  Miles  as  a 
reward  of  merit. 

I  told  him,  if  he  wanted  to  make  a  show 
of  gratitude  from  the  road,  and  get  a  big 
free  advertisement  in  the  papers,  to  have 
Miles  appointed  superintendent  of  the 
Spring  Creek  branch,  where  a  practical  man 
was  needed,  and  then  give  it  out  "cold"  that 
Miles  had  been  rewarded  by  being  made  su- 
perintendent of  the  road.  This  was  after- 


A  PEG-LEGGED  ROMANCE  93 

wards  done,  with  a  great  hurrah  (in  the  pa- 
pers). 

The  second  Sunday  after  Miles  was  hurt, 
Marie  was  down,  and  I  thought  I'd  have  a 
little  fun  with  her,  and  see  how  she  regarded 
Miles. 

"There's  quite  a  romance  connected  with 
Diston's  affair,"  said  I  at  the  dinner  table, 
rather  carelessly.  "There  is  a  young  lady 
visiting  here  in  town — I  hear  she  is  very 
wealthy — who  saw  Miles  when  we  took  him 
off  his  engine.  She  sends  flowers  every  day, 
calls  him  her  hero,  and  is  just  crazy  for  him 
to  get  well  so  she  can  see  him." 

"Who  is  she,  did  you  say?"  asked  my 
wife. 

"I  forgot  her  name,"  said  I,  "but  I  am 
here  to  tell  you  that  she  will  get  Miles  if 
there  is  any  chance  in  the  world.  Her  father 
is  an  army  officer,  but  she  says  that  Miles 
Diston  is  a  greater  hero  than  the  army  ever 
produced." 

"She's  a  hussy,"  said  Marie. 

I  don't  know  whether  you  would  call  that 


94     STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

a  bull  or  a  bear  movement  on  the  Diston 
stock,  but  it  went  up — I  could  see  that. 

A  week  later  Miles  was  able  to  come  down 
to  our  house  for  dinner,  and  my  wife  asked 
Marie  to  come  also.  I  met  her  at  the  depot, 
and  after  she  was  safe  in  the  buggy,  I  told 
her  that  Miles  was  up  at  the  house.  She 
nearly  jumped  out;  but  I  quieted  her,  and 
told  her  she  mustn't  notice  or  say  a  word 
about  Miles's  game  leg,  as  he  was  extremely 
sensitive  about  it. 

My  wife  was  in  the  kitchen,  and  I  went 
to  the  barn  to  put  out  the  horse.  Marie 
went  to  the  sitting-room  to  avoid  the  parlor 
and  Miles,  but  he  was  there,  I  guess,  and 
Marie  found  her  hero,  for  when  they  came 
out  to  dinner  he  had  his  arm  around  her. 
They  were  married  a  month  later,  and  went 
to  Washington,  stopping  to  see  us  on  the 
way  back. 

As  I  came  home  that  night  with  my  patent 
dinner  pail,  and  with  two  rows  of  wrinkles 
and  a  load  of  responsibility  on  my  brow,  Ma- 
rie shook  her  fist  in  my  face  and  called  me 
"an  old  story-teller." 


A  PEG-LEGGED  ROMANCE  96 

"Story-teller,"  said  I;  "what  story?" 

"Oh,  what  story?  That  leg  story,  of 
course,  you  old  cheat." 

"What  leg  story?" 

"Old  innocence;  that  amputation  below 
the  knee — you  know." 

"Wa'n't  it  below  the  knee?" 

"Yes,  but  it  was  only  the  little  toe." 

"John,"  said  Miles,  "she  cried  when  she 
looked  for  that  wooden  foot  and  only  found 
a  slightly  flat  wheel." 

"That's  just  like  'em,"  said  I.  "Here  Ma- 
rie only  expected  a  part  of  a  hero,  and  we 
give  her  a  whole  man,  and  she  kicks — that's 
gratitude  for  you." 

"I  got  my  hero  all  right,  though,"  said 
Marie;  "you  told  me  a  big  fib  just  the  same, 
but  I  could  kiss  you  for  it." 

"Don't  you  do  that,"  said  I ;  "but  if  the 
Lord  should  send  you  many  blessings,  and 
any  of  'em  are  boys,  you  might  name  one 
after  me." 

She  said  she'd  do  it — and  she  did. 


My  Lady  of  the   Eyes 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES 

ONE  morning,  some  years  ago,  I  struck 
the  general  master  mechanic  of  a  Rocky 
Mountain  road  for  a  job  as  an  engineer — I 
needed  a  job  pretty  badly. 

As  quick  as  the  M.  M.  found  that  I  could 
handle  air  on  two  hundred  foot  grades,  he 
was  as  tickled  as  I  was;  engineers  were  not 
plenty  in  the  country  then,  so  many  deserted 
to  go  to  the  mines. 

"The  'III'  will  be  out  in  a  couple  of  days, 
and  you  can  have  her  regular,  unless  Hop- 
kins comes  back,"  said  he. 

I  hustled  around  for  a  room  and  made 
my  peace  with  the  boarding-house  people 
before  I  reported  to  break  in  the  big  con- 
solidation that  was  to  fall  to  my  care. 

She  was  big  and  black  and  ugly  and  new, 
and  her  fresh  fire  made  the  asphalt  paint  on 
her  fire-box  and  front-end  stink  in  that  pe- 

99 


100        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

culiar  and  familiar  way  given  to  recently  re- 
built engines;  but  it  smelt  better  to  me  than 
all  the  perfumes  of  Arabia. 

A  good-natured  engineer  came  out  on  the 
ash-pit  track  to  welcome  me  to  the  West  and 
the  road,  and  incidentally  to  remark  that  it 
was  a  great  relief  to  the  gang  that  I  had 
come  as  I  did. 

"Why,"  I  asked,  "are  you  so  short-handed 
that  you  are  doubling  and  trebling?"  "No, 
but  they  are  afraid  that  some  of  'em  will 
have  to  take  out  the  'III' — she  is  a  holy  ter- 
ror." 

Hadn't  she  been  burned  the  first  trip? 
Didn't  she  kill  Jim  O'Neil  with  the  reverse 
lever?  Hadn't  she  lain  down  on  the  bed  of 
the  Arkansas  river  and  wallowed  on  "Scar 
Face"  Hopkins,  and  he  not  up  yet  ?  Hadn't 
she  run  away  time  and  again  without  cause 
or  provocation? 

But  a  fellow  that  has  needed  a  job  for  six 
months  will  tackle  almost  anything,  and  I 
tackled  the  "holy  terror." 

In  fixing  up  the  cab,  I  noticed  an  extra 
bracket  beside  the  steam  gage  for  a  clock, 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  IOI 

and  mentally  noted  that  it  would  come  in 
handy  just  as  soon  as  I  had  a  twenty  dol- 
lar bill  to  spare  for  one  of  those  jeweled, 
nickle-plated,  side-winding  clocks,  that  are 
the  pride  and  comfort  of  those  particular 
engineers  who  want  nice  things,  with  their 
names  engraved  on  the  case. 

Before  I  had  got  everything  ready  to  take 
the  "three  aces"  over  the  turn-table  for  her 
breaking-in  trip,  the  foreman  of  the  back- 
shop  came  out  with  a  package  done  up  in  a 
pair  of  old  overalls,  and  said  that  here  was 
Hopkins's  clock,  which  I  might  as  well  use 
until  he  got  around  again — 'fraid  someone 
would  steal  it  if  left  in  his  office. 

Hopkins's  clock  was  put  on  its  old  bracket. 

Hopkins  must  have  been  one  of  those  par- 
ticular engineers ;  his  clock  was  a  fine  one ; 
"S.  H.  Hopkins"  was  engraved  on  the  case 
in  German  text.  The  lower  half  of  the  dial 
was  black  with  white  figures,  the  upper  half 
white  with  black  figures.  But  what  struck 
me  was  part  of  a  woman's  face  burned  into 
the  enamel.  Just  half  of  this  face  showed, 


IO2        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

that  on  the  white  part  of  the  dial ;  the  black 
half  hid  the  rest. 

It  was  the  face,  or  part  of  the  face,  of  a 
handsome  young  woman  with  hair  parted  in 
the  middle  and  waved  back  over  the  ears,  a 
broad  forehead,  and  such  glorious  eyes — 
eyes  that  looked  straight  into  yours  from 
every  view  point — honest  eyes — reproving 
eyes — laughing  eyes — loving  eyes.  I  men- 
tally named  the  picture  "Her  Eyes." 

Now,  I  was  not  and  am  not  sentimental 
or  superstitious.  I'd  been  married  and 
helped  wean  a  baby  or  two  even  then,  but 
those  eyes  bothered  me.  They  hunted  mine 
and  looked  at  me  and  asked  me  questions 
and  made  me  forget  things,  and  made  me 
think  and  dream  and  speculate ;  all  of  which 
are  sheer  suicide  for  a  locomotive  engineer. 

I  got  a  switchman  and  started  out  to  lim- 
ber up  the  "III."  I  asked  him  to  let  me  out  on 
the  main  line,  took  a  five-mile  spin,  and  side- 
tracked for  a  freight  train.  While  the  man 
was  unlocking  the  switch,  I  looked  into  the 
eyes  and  wondered  what  their  owner  was, 
or  could  be,  or  had  been,  to  "Scar  Faced" 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  103 

Hopkins,  and — ran  off  the  switch.  Then  I 
wondered  if  Hopkins  was  looking  into  those 
eyes  when  he  and  the  "III"  went  into  the 
Arkansas  river  that  dark  night. 

A  few  days  after  this  the  "III,"  Dennis 
Rafferty  and  I  went  into  the  regular  freight 
service  of  the  road. 

On  the  first  trip,  when  half  way  up  Green- 
hall  grade,  I  glanced  at  the  clock  and  was 
startled.  The  "Eyes"  were  looking  at  me; 
there  was  a  scared,  pained  look,  a  you-must- 
do-something  look  in  the  eyes,  or  it  seemed 
to  me  there  was. 

"Damn  that  clock,"  said  I  to  myself,  "I'm 
getting  superstitious  or  have  softening  of 
the  brain,"  and  I  reached  over  to  open  the 
front  door,  so  that  the  breeze  could  cool  me 
off.  In  doing  so  my  hand  touched  the  water 
pipe  to  the  injector — it  was  hot.  The  closed 
overflow  injector  was  new  to  me;  it  had 
"broke,"  and  was  blowing  steam  back  to  the 
tank  that  I  thought  was  putting  water  into 
the  boiler.  I  put  it  to  work  properly  and 
"felt  of  the  water :"  there  was  just  a  flutter 
in  the  lower  gage  cock;  in  five  minutes  the 


104        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

crown  sheet  and  my  reputation  would  have 
been  burned  beyond  recognition.  Those  eyes 
were  good  for  something  after  all. 

I  looked  at  them  and  they  were  calm.  "It's 
all  right  now,  but  be  careful,"  they  said. 

Dennis  Rafferty  had  troubles  of  his  own. 
The  liner  came  off  the  new  fire  door  letting 
the  door  get  red  hot,  but  it  wasn't  half  as 
hot  as  Dennis.  He  hammered  it  with  the 
coal  pick  and  burned  his  hands  and  swore, 
and  Dennis  was  an  artist  in  profanity.  He 
stepped  up  into  the  cab  wiping  his  face  on  his 
sleeve,  and  ripping  the  English  and  profane 
languages  into  tatters;  but  he  stopped  short 
in  the  middle  of  an  oath  and  looked  ashamed, 
glanced  at  me,  crossed  himself  and  went 
back  to  his  work  quietly.  When  he  came 
back  into  the  cab,  I  asked  him  what  choked 
him  so  sudden. 

"Her,"  said  he,  nodding  his  head  toward 
the  clock.  "Howly  Mither,  man,  she  looked 
hurted  and  sorry-like,  same's  me  owld  mither 
uster,  whin  I  was  noctious  with  the  blasth- 
femry."  So  the  "Eyes"  were  on  Dennis, 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  IO5 

too.  That  took  some  of  the  conceit  out  of 
me,  I  was  getting  foolish  about  the  eyes. 

We  had  a  time  order  against  a  passenger 
train,  it  would  be  sharp  work  to  make  the 
next  station,  the  train  was  heavy,  the  road 
and  the  engine  new  to  me,  and  I  hesitated. 
The  conductor  was  dubious  but  said  the 
"204"  or  Frosty  Keeler  could  do  it  any  day 
of  the  week.  I  looked  at  my  watch  and  then 
at  the  clock.  The  eyes  looked  "Yes,  go,  you 
can  do  it  easily;  the  'III'  will  do  all  you  ask; 
trust  her."  I  went,  and  as  we  pulled  our 
caboose  in  to  clear  and  before  the  express 
whistled  for  the  junction,  the  eyes  looked 
"Didn't  I  tell  you;  wasn't  that  splendid." 
Those  eyes  had  been  over  the  road  more 
than  I  had,  and  knew  the  "III"  better.  I 
would  trust  the  eyes. 

On  the  return  trip,  a  night  run,  I  had  a 
big  train  and  a  bad  rail,  but  the  "III"  did 
splendid  work  and  made  her  time  while 
"Her  Eyes"  approved  every  move  I  made, 
smiled  at  me  and  admired  my  handling  of 
the  engine.  The  conductor  unbent  enough 
to  send  over  word  that  it  was  the  best  run 


106        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

he'd  ever  had  from  a  new  man,  but  the 
"Eyes"  looked,  "That's  nothing,  you  can  do 
it  every  time,  I  know  you  can." 

Half  over  the  division,  we  took  a  siding 
for  the  "Cannon  Ball."  We  cleared  her  ten 
minutes  and  I  had  time  to  oil  around  while 
Dennis  cleaned  his  fire.  I  climbed  up  into 
the  cab,  wiping  the  long  oiler  and  glanced 
at  the  clock.  The  "Eyes"  were  looking  wild 
alarm — "do  something  quick."  The  "Eyes" 
had  the  look,  or  seemed  to  me  to  have  the 
look,  you  might  expect  in  those  of  a  bound 
woman  who  sees  a  child  at  the  stake  just  be- 
fore the  fire  is  lighted — immeasurable  pain, 
pity,  appeal.  I  tried  the  water,  uncon- 
sciously ;  it  was  all  right.  I  stepped  into  the 
gangway  and  glanced  back.  Our  tail-lights 
were  "in"  and  the  white  light  of  the  switch 
flashed  safely  there,  and  we  had  backed  in 
any  way.  I  glanced  ahead.  The  switch 
light  was  white,  the  target  showed  main  line 
plainly,  for  my  headlight  shone  on  it  full 
and  clear.  What  could  be  the  matter  with 
"Her  Eyes." 

As  I  turned  to  enter  the  cab  the  roar  of 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  IO/ 

the  coming  express  came  down  the  wind  on 
the  frosty  air  and  my  eyes  fell  on  the  rail 
ahead.  My  God,  they  were  full  to  the  sid- 
ing !  It  was  a  stub-rail  switch,  and  the  stand 
had  moved  the  target  and  the  light,  but  not 
the  rails — the  bridle-rod  was  broken. 

I  yelled  like  a  mad  man,  but  the  brake- 
man  had  gone  to  the  caboose  for  his  lunch 
pail.  I  ran  to  the  switch.  It  was  useless. 
I  fought  it  an  instant  and  then  turned  to  the 
rails.  Putting  my  foot  against  the  main  line 
rail,  I  grasped  the  switch  rail  and  throwing 
all  my  strength  into  the  effort,  jerked  it  over 
to  the  main  line,  but  would  it  stay  until  the 
train  passed  over?  I  felt  sure  it  would  not. 
I  looked  about  for  something  to  hold  it.  Part 
of  a  broken  pin  was  the  only  thing  in  sight. 
The  headlight  of  the  express  shone  in  my 
face,  and  something  seemed  to  say,  "This  is 
your  trial,  do  something  quick."  I  threw  my- 
self prone  on  the  ground,  my  head  near  the 
rails,  and  held  the  broken  pin  between  the 
end  of  the  siding  rail  and  the  main  line.  The 
switch  rails  could  not  be  forced  over  without 
shearing  off  the  pin.  The  corner  of  the  pi- 


108         STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

lot  of  the  flying  demon  caught  my  right 
sleeve  and  tore  it  off,  and  the  cloth  threw  the 
cylinder  cocks  open  with  a  hiss,  the  wind 
and  dust  blinded  and  shook  me,  and  the  rails 
hammered  and  bruised  and  pinched  my 
hand,  but  I  held  on.  Twenty  seconds  later 
I  sat  watching  the  red  lights  of  the  tenth 
sleeper  whip  themselves  out  of  sight.  Then 
I  went  back  to  the  cab,  and  "Her  Eyes"  glo- 
rified me.  "God  bless  your  dear  eyes,"  said 
I,  "where  would  we  have  all  been  now  but 
for  you  ?" 

But  the  "Eyes"  deprecated  my  remarks, 
and  looked  me  upon  a  pedestal,  but  the  com- 
pany doctor  dressed  my  hand  the  next  day, 
and  the  superintendent  gave  the  whole 
crew  ten  days  for  backing  into  that  siding. 

Another  round  trip,  and  I  fear  I  watched 
"Her  Eyes"  more  than  the  signals  and  the 
track  ahead.  "Her  Eyes"  decided  for  me, 
chose  for  me,  approved  and  disapproved.  I 
was  running  by  "Her  Eyes." 

In  a  telegraph  office  they  asked  me  if  I 
could  do  something  in  a  certain  time  and  I 
was  dazed.  I  didn't  give  my  usual  quick  de- 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  1 09 

cision,  my  judgment  was  wobbly  and  uncer- 
tain. I  must  look  at  my  clock — and  "Her 
Eyes."  I  went  out  to  the  "III"  to  consult 
them,  lost  my  chance  and  was  "put  in  the 
hole"  all  over  the  division  by  the  disgusted 
dispatcher. 

Then  I  got  to  thinking  and  moralizing 
and  sitting  in  judgment  on  my  thraldom. 
Was  I  running  the  "III"  or  was  "Her 
Eyes?"  Did  the  company  pay  me  for  my 
knowledge,  judgment,  experience  and  skill 
in  handling  a  locomotive,  or  for  obeying  or- 
ders from  "Her  Eyes."  Any  fool  could 
obey  orders. 

Then  I  declared  for  liberty,  but  I  kept 
away  from  "Her  Eyes."  I  declared  for  lib- 
erty in  the  roundhouse. 

I  am  a  man  of  decision,  and  no  sooner  had 
I  taken  this  oath  than  I  got  a  screw  driver, 
climbed  into  the  cab  of  the  "III,"  without 
looking  at  "Her  Eyes,"  held  my  hand  over 
the  face  of  the  clock  and  took  it  down.  I 
wrapped  it  up  and  took  it  back  to  the  fore- 
man. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  he,  "  'Scar  Face'  was 


IIO   STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

here  for  it  this  morning.  He's  round  some- 
where yet.  Ain't  goin'  to  railroad  no  more, 
goin'  into  the  real  estate  business.  He's  got 
money,  so's  his  wife — daffool  he  didn't  quit 
long  ago." 

"If  'Scar  Face'  Hopkins  puts  that  clock 
over  his  desk  and  trusts  'Her  Eyes,'  he'll  get 
rich,"  thought  I.  Perhaps,  though,  those 
eyes  don't  reach  the  soul  of  "Scar  Face" 
Hopkins;  perhaps  he  don't  see  them  change 
as  I  did ;  men  are  conceited  that  way. 

During  the  next  month  I  got  acquainted 
with  "Scar  Face"  Hopkins,  who  was  a  first- 
class  fellow,  with  a  hand-clasp  like  a  polar 
bear,  a  heart  like  a  steam  pulsometer,  and  a 
face  that  looked  as  if  it  might  have  been  used 
for  the  butting  post  at  the  end  of  the  world. 

"Scar  Face"  Hopkins  got  all  his  scars  in 
the  battle  of  life.  Men  who  command  loco- 
motives on  the  firing  line  often  get  hurt, 
but  Hopkins  had  votes  of  thanks  from  of- 
ficials and  testimonials  from  men,  and  life- 
saver's  medals  from  two  governments  to 
show  that  his  scars  were  the  brands  of  hon- 
orable degrees  conferred  by  the  Almighty  on 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  III 

the  field  for  brave  and  heroic  deeds  well 
done. 

"Scar  Face"  Hopkins  was  a  fellow  you'd 
like  to  get  up  close  to  of  a  night  and  talk 
with,  and  smoke  with,  and  think  with,  until 
unlawful  hours. 

One  day  I  went  into  his  office  and  the 
clock  was  there,  and  his  old  torch  and  a 
nickle-plated  oiler,  mementoes  of  the  field. 
I  looked  at  the  clock,  and  "Her  Eyes"  smiled 
at  me,  or  I  thought  they  did,  and  said,  just 
as  plain  as  words,  "Glad  to  see  you,  dear 
friend;  sit  down."  But  I  turned  my  back  to 
that  clock;  I  can  resist  temptation  when  I 
know  where  it  is  coming  from. 

One  day,  a  few  weeks  later,  I  stopped  be- 
fore a  store  window  in  a  crowd  to  examine 
some  pictures,  satisfied  my  curiosity,  and  in 
stepping  back  to  go  away,  put  the  heel  of  my 
number  ten  on  a  lady's  foot  with  that  pecu- 
liar "craunch"  that  you  know  hurts.  I 
turned  to  make  an  apology,  and  faced  the 
original  of  the  picture  on  the  clock.  A  beau- 
tiful pair  of  eyes,  the  rest  of  the  face  was 
hidden  by  a  peculiar  arrangement  of  veil  that 


1 1 2         STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

crossed  the  bridge  of  the  nose  and  went 
around  the  ears  and  neck. 

Those  eyes,  full  of  pain  at  first,  changed 
instantly  to  frank  forgiveness,  and,  bowing 
low,  I  repeated  my  plea  for  pardon  for  my 
clumsy  carelessness,  but  was  absolved  so  ab- 
solutely and  completely,  and  dismissed  so 
naturally,  that  I  felt  relieved. 

I  sauntered  up  to  Hopkins'  office.  "Hop- 
kins," said  I,  "I  just  met  your  wife." 

"You  did?" 

"Yes,  and  I  stepped  on  her  foot  and  hurt 
her  badly,  I  know."  Then  I  told  him  about  it. 

"What  did  she  say?"  asked  Hopkins,  and 
I  noticed  a  queer  look.  I  thought  it  might 
be  jealousy. 

"Why,  well,  why  I  don't  know  as  I  re- 
member, but  it  was  very  kindly  and  lady- 
like." 

There  was  a  queer  expression  on  Hopkins' 
face. 

"Of  course—" 

"Sure  she  spoke?"  asked  Hopkins.  "How 
did  you  know  it  was  my  wife  anyway?" 

"Because  it  was  the  same  face  that  is  pic- 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  113 

tured  on  your  clock,  and  some  one  in  the 
crowd  said  it  was  Mrs.  Hopkins.  You  know 
Hop.,  I  ran  by  that  clock  for  a  few  weeks, 
and  I  noticed  the  eyes." 

"Anything  queer  about  'em?"  This  was 
a  challenge. 

"Yes,  I  think  there  is.  In  the  first  place, 
I  know  you  will  understand  me  when  I  say 
they  are  handsome  eyes,  and  I'm  free  to  con- 
fess that  they  had  a  queer  influence  on  me, 
I  imagined  they  changed  and  expressed 
things  and — " 

"Talked,  eh." 

"Well,  yes."  Then  I  told  Hopkins  the 
influence  the  "Eyes"  had  on  me. 

He  listened  intently,  watching  me;  when 
I  had  finished,  he  came  over,  reached  out  his 
hand  and  said : 

"Shake,  friend,  you're  a  damned  good  fel- 
low." 

I  thought  Hopkins  had  been  drinking — or 
looking  at  "Her  Eyes."  He  pulled  up  a 
chair  and  lit  a  cigar. 

"John,"  said  he,  "it  isn't  every  man  that 
can  understand  what  my  wife  says.  Only 


1 14        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

kindred  spirits  can  read  the  language  of  the 
eyes.  She  hasn't  spoken  an  audible  word  in 
ten  years,  but  she  talks  with  her  eyes,  even 
her  picture  talks.  We,  rather  she,  is  a  mys- 
tery here;  people  believe  all  kinds  of  things 
about  her  and  us ;  but  we  don't  care.  I  want 
you  to  come  up  to  the  house  some  evening 
and  know  her  better.  We'll  be  three  chums, 
I  know  it,  but  don't  ask  questions;  you  will 
know  things  later  on." 

Before  I  ever  went  to  Hopkins'  house,  he 
had  told  her  all  about  me,  and  when  he  in- 
troduced us,  he  said : 

"Madeline,  this  is  the  friend  who  says 
your  picture  talked  to  him." 

I  bowed  low  to  the  lady  and  tried  to  put 
myself  and  her  at  ease. 

"Mrs.  Hopkins,  I'm  afraid  your  husband 
is  poking  fun  at  me,  and  thinks  my  liver  is 
out  of  order,  but,  really,  I  did  imagine  I  saw 
changing  expression  in  your  eyes  in  that  pic- 
ture— in  fact,  I  named  you  'My  Lady  of  the 
Eyes.'  " 

She  laughed — with  her  eyes — held  out  her 
hands  and  made  me  welcome. 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  115 

"That  name  is  something  like  mine,"  said 
Hopkins,  "I  call  her  Talking  Eyes.'  " 

Then  Hopkins  brought  in  his  little  three- 
year-old  daughter,  who  immediately  climbed 
on  my  knee,  captured  my  watch,  and  asked : 

"What  oo  name?" 

"John,"  said  I. 

"Don,  Don,"  she  repeated;  "my  name 
Maddie." 

"That's  Daddy's  chum,"  put  in  Hopkins. 

"Turn,"  repeated  Maddie. 

"Uncle  Chummy,"  said  Hopkins. 

"Untie  Tummie." 

And  I  was  "Untie  Tummie"  to  little 
Madeline  and  "Chummy"  to  Hopkins  and 
his  wife  from  then  on. 

Mrs.  Hopkins  wore  her  veil  at  home  as 
well  as  abroad,  but  it  was  so  neatly  arranged 
and  worn  so  naturally  that  I  soon  became 
entirely  used  to  it,  in  fact,  didn't  notice  it. 
Otherwise,  she  was  a  well-dressed,  hand- 
somely set  up  woman,  a  splendid  musician 
and  a  capital  companion.  She  sat  at  her 
work  listening,  while  Hopkins  and  I  "rail- 
roaded" and  argued  about  politics,  and  re- 


1 1 6        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

ligion  and  everything  else  under  the  sun. 
Mrs.  Hopkins  took  sides  freely;  a  glance  at 
her  eyes  told  where  she  stood  on  any  ques- 
tion. 

Between  "Scar  Face"  Hopkins  and  his 
handsome  wife  there  appeared  to  be  perfect 
sympathy  and  confidence.  Sitting  in  silence, 
they  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  now  and 
again,  smiled,  nodded — and  understood. 

I  was  barred  from  the  house  for  a  month 
during  the  winter  because  little  Madeline 
had  the  scarlet  fever,  then  epidemic,  but  it 
was  reported  a  light  case  and  I  contented 
myself  with  sending  her  toys  and  candy. 

One  day  I  dropped  into  Hopkins'  office 
to  make  inquiry,  when  a  clerk  told  me  Hop- 
kins had  not  been  to  the  office  for  several 
days.  Mrs.  Hopkins  was  sick.  I  made  an- 
other round  trip  and  inquired  again,  and  got 
the  same  answer;  then  I  went  up  to  the 
house. 

The  officious  quarantine  guard  was  still 
walking  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  Hop- 
kins residence.  To  a  single  inquiry,  this 
voluble  functionary  volunteered  the  infor- 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  117 

mation  that  the  baby  was  all  right  now,  but 
the  lady  herself  was  very  sick  with  scarlet 
fever.  Hopkins  was  most  crazy,  no  trained 
nurses  could  be  had  for  love  nor  money,  the 
doctor  was  coming  three  times  a  day,  and 
did  I  know  that  Mrs.  Hopkins  was  some 
kind  of  a  foreign  Dago,  and  the  whole  out- 
fit "queer?" 

Hopkins  was  in  trouble;  I  pushed  open 
the  gate  and  started  up  the  walk. 

"Hey,  young  feller,  where  yer  goin',"  de- 
manded the  guard. 

"Into  the  house,  of  course." 

"D'ye  know  if  you  go  in  ye  got  to  stay  for 
the  next  two  weeks  ?" 

"Perfectly." 

"Then  go  on,  you  darned  fool." 

And  I  went  on. 

Hopkins  met  me,  hollow-eyed  and  hag- 
gard 

"Chum,"  said  he,  "you've  come  to  prison, 
but  I'm  glad.  Help  is  out  of  reach.  If  you 
can  take  care  of  Maddie,  the  girl  will  do  the 
cooking  and  I  will — I  will  do  my  duty." 

And  night  and  day  he  did  do  his  duty, 


1 1 8        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

being  alone  with  his  wife  except  for  the  few 
moments  of  the  doctor's  calls. 

One  evening,  after  my  little  charge  had 
been  put  to  sleep  downstairs  by  complying 
with  her  invariable  order  to  "tell  me  a  'tory 
'bout  when  oo  was  a  'ittle  teenty  weenty 
boy,"  the  doctor  came  down  with  a  grave 
face. 

"Our  patient  has  reached  the  worst  stage 
— delirium.  The  turn  will  come  to-night. 
Poor  Hopkins  is  about  worn  out,  and  I'm 
afraid  may  need  you.  Please  don't  go  to 
bed;  be 'on  call.'" 

One  hour,  two  hours,  I  sat  there  without 
hearing  a  sound  from  upstairs.  I  was 
drowsy  and  remembering  that  I  had  missed 
my  evening  smoke  I  lighted  my  pipe,  silently 
opened  the  front  door  and  stepped  out  upon 
the  porch  to  get  a  whiff  of  fresh  air.  It  was 
a  still  dark  night,  and  I  tiptoed  down  to  the 
end  that  overlooked  the  city  and  stood  look- 
ing at  the  lights  and  listening  to  the  music 
of  the  switch  engines  in  the  yards  below  the 
hill.  The  porch  was  in  darkness  except  the 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  1 19 

broad  beam  of  light  from  the  hall  gas  jet 
through  the  open  door. 

The  lights  below  made  me  think  of  home 
and  my  wife  and  little  ones  sleeping  safely,  I 
hoped,  close  to  the  coastwise  lights  of  the 
Old  Colony. 

I  thought  I  heard  a  stealthy  footfall  be- 
hind me,  and  turned  around  to  face  an  ap- 
parition that  made  the  cold  chill  creep  up 
my  back.  If  ever  there  was  a  ghost,  this 
must  be  one,  an  object  in  white  not  six  feet 
from  me. 

I'm  not  at  all  afraid  of  ghosts  when  I 
reach  my  second  wind,  and  I  grabbed  at  this 
one.  It  moved  backward  silently  and  as  I 
made  a  quick  step  toward  it  that  specter  let 
out  the  most  blood-curdling  yell  I  ever  heard 
— the  shriek  of  a  maniac. 

I  stepped  quicker  now,  but  it  moved  away 
until  it  stood  in  the  flood  of  light  from  the 
doorway,  and  then  I  saw  a  sight  that  took 
all  the  strength  out  of  me.  The  most  awful 
and  frightful  face  I  ever  beheld,  and, — it 
was  the  face  of  Madeline  Hopkins. 

The  neck  and  jaw  and  mouth  were  drawn 


1 20        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

and  seamed  and  scarred  in  a  frightful  and 
hideous  manner,  the  teeth  protruded  and  the 
mouth  was  drawn  to  one  side  in  a  frightful 
leer;  above  that  was  all  the  beauty  of  "My 
Lady  of  the  Eyes." 

For  a  moment  I  was  dumb  and  powerless, 
and  in  that  moment  Hopkins  appeared  with 
a  bound,  and  between  us  we  captured  my 
poor  friend's  wife  and  struggled  and  fought 
with  her  up  the  long  stairs  and  back  to  her 
bed. 

Sitting  one  on  either  side,  we  had  all  we 
could  do  to  hold  her  hands.  She  would  lift 
us  both  to  our  feet,  she  was  struggling  des- 
perately, and  the  eyes  were  the  eyes  of  a 
tigress. 

When  this  strain  was  at  its  worst  and  every 
nerve  on  edge,  another  scream  from  behind 
us  cut  our  ears  like  a  needle,  the  eyes  of  the 
tigress  as  well  as  ours  sought  the  door,  and 
there  in  her  golden  curls  and  white  "nightie" 
stood  little  Madeline.  The  eyes  of  the 
tigress  softened  to  tenderest  love,  and  with  a 
bound,  the  baby  was  on  her  mother's  breast, 
her  arms  around  her  neck,  and  she  was  say- 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  1 2 1 

ing,  "Poor  Mama,  what  they  doin'  to  poor 
Mama?" 

"My  darling,  my  darling,"  said  the 
mother  in  the  sweetest  of  tones. 

I  unconsciously  released  my  hold  upon  the 
arm  I  held,  and  she  drew  the  sheet  up  and 
covered  her  face  as  I  was  wont  to  see  it,  and 
held  it  there.  With  the  other,  she  gently 
stroked  the  baby  curls. 

I  watched  this  transformation  as  if  under 
a  spell. 

Suddenly  she  turned  her  head  toward 
Hopkins,  her  eyes  full  of  tenderness  and  pity 
and  love,  reached  out  her  hand  and  said: 

"Oh,  Steadman,  my  voice  has  come  back, 
God  has  taken  off  the  curse." 

But  poor  Hopkins  was  on  his  knees  beside 
the  bed,  his  face  buried  in  his  arms,  his 
strong  shoulders  heaving  and  pitiful  sobs 
breaking  from  his  very  heart. 

A  couple  of  months  afterward  I  resigned 
to  go  back  to  God's  country,  the  home  of  the 
east  wind,  and  where  I  could  know  my  own 
children  and  speak  to  my  own  wife  without 


122        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

an  introduction,  and  the  Hopkins  invited  me 
to  a  farewell  dinner. 

"My  Lady  of  the  Eyes"  presided,  looking 
handsomer  and  stronger  than  usual,  but  she 
didn't  eat  with  us.  But  with  eyes  and  voice 
she  entertained  us  so  royally  and  pleasantly 
that  Hopkins  and  I  did  eating  enough  for 
all. 

After  supper,  Hop.  and  I  lighted  our  ci- 
gars and  "railroaded"  for  awhile,  then  "Her 
Eyes"  went  to  the  piano  and  sang  a  dozen 
songs  as  only  a  trained  singer  can.  Her 
voice  was  wonderfully  sweet  and  low.  They 
were  old  songs,  but  they  seemed  the  better 
for  that,  and  while  she  sang  Hopkins's  ci- 
gar went  out  and  he  just  gazed  at  her  with 
pride  and  joy  in  every  lineament  of  his 
scarred  and  furrowed  face. 

Little  Maddie  was  allowed  to  sit  up  in 
honor  of  "Untie  Tummy,"  but  after  awhile 
the  little  head  bobbed  quietly  and  the  little 
chin  fell  between  the  verses  of  her  mother's 
song,  and  "My  Lady  of  the  Eyes"  took  her 
by  the  hand  and  brought  her  over  to  us. 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  123 

"Tell  papa  good-night  and  Uncle  Chum 
my  good-bye,  dear,  and  we'll  go  to  bed." 

Hopkins  kissed  the  baby,  and  I  got  my 
hug,  and  another  to  take  to  my  "ittle  dirl," 
and  Mrs.  Hopkins  held  out  both  her  hands 
to  me. 

"Good-bye,  dear  Chum,"  said  she,  "my 
love  to  you  and  yours,  now  and  always." 

Hopkins  put  his  arm  around  his  wife, 
kissed  her  forehead  and  said : 

"Sweetheart,  I'm  going  to  tell  Chum  a 
story." 

"And  don't  forget  the  hero,"  said  she,  and 
turning  to  me,  "Don't  believe  all  he  says, 
and  don't  blame  those  that  he  blames,  and 
remember  that  what  is,  is  best,  and  seeming 
calamities  are  often  blessings  in  disguise." 

Hopkins  and  I  looked  into  each  other's 
faces  and  smoked  in  silence  for  ten  minutes, 
then  he  turned  to  his  secretary  and,  opening 
a  drawer,  took  out  a  couple  of  cases  and 
opened  them.  They  contained  medals. 
Then  he  opened  a  package  of  letters  and  se- 
lected one  or  two.  We  lighted  fresh  cigars 
and  Hopkins  began  his  story. 


124        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

"My  father  was  a  pretty  well-to-do  busi- 
ness man  and  I  his  only  child.  My  mother 
died  when  I  was  young.  I  managed  to  get 
through  a  grammar  school  and  went  to  col- 
lege. I  wanted  to  go  on  the  road  from  the 
time  I  could  remember  and  had  no  ambition 
higher  than  to  run  a  locomotive.  That  was 
my  ideal  of  life. 

"My  father  opposed  this  very  strenuously, 
and  offered  to  let  me  go  to  work  if  I'd  select 
something  decent — that's  the  way  he  put  it. 
He  used  to  say,  'Try  a  brick-yard,  you  might 
own  one  some  day,  you'll  never  own  a  rail- 
road.' I  had  my  choice,  college  or  'some- 
thing decent/  and  I  took  the  college,  al- 
though I  didn't  like  it. 

"The  summer  before  I  came  of  age  my 
father  died  suddenly  and  my  college  life 
ended." 

Here  Hopkins  fumbled  around  in  his  pa- 
pers and  selected  one. 

"Just  to  show  you  how  odd  my  father 
was,  here  is  the  text  of  his  will,  leaving  out 
the  legal  slush  that  lawyers  always  pack  their 
papers  in : 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  125 

"  To  my  son,  Steadman  Hudson  Hop- 
kins, I  leave  one  thousand  dollars  to  be  paid 
immediately  on  my  demise.  All  the  residue 
of  my  estate  consisting  of  etc.,  etc.' — six  fig- 
ures, Chum,  a  snug  little  wad — 'shall  be 
placed  in  the  hands  of  three  trustees' — nam- 
ing the  presidents  of  three  banks — 'to  be  in- 
vested by  them  in  state,  municipal  or  govern- 
ment bonds,  principal  and  interest  accruing 
to  be  paid  by  said  trustees  to  my  son  here- 
inbefore mentioned  when  he  has  pursued 
one  calling,  with  average  success,  for  ten 
consecutive  years,  and  not  until  then.  All 
in  the  best  judgment  of  the  trustees  afore- 
named. 

"To  my  son  I  also  bequeath  this  fatherly 
advice,  knowing  the  waste  of  money  by  heirs 
who  have  done  nothing  to  produce  it,  and 
knowing  that  had  I  been  given  a  fortune  at 
the  beginning  of  my  career,  it  would  have 
been  lost  for  lack  of  business  experience, 
and  knowing  too,  the  waste  of  time  usually 
made  by  young  men  who  drift  from  one  em- 
ployment or  occupation  to  another — having 
wasted  fifteen  years  of  my  own  life  in  this 


1 26   STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

way — I  make  these  provisions  in  this  my 
last  will  and  testament,  believing  that  in  the 
end,  if  not  now,  my  son  will  see  the  wisdom 
of  this  provision,  etc.,  etc.' 

"The  governor  had  a  long,  clear  head  and 
he  knew  me  and  young  men  in  general,  but 
bless  you,  I  thought  he  was  a  little  mean  at 
the  time. 

"I  turned  to  the  trustees  and  asked  what 
they  would  consider  as  fulfilling  the  require- 
ments of  the  will. 

"  'Any  honorable  employment,'  answered 
the  oldest  man  of  the  trio. 

"The  next  day,  I  went  to  see  Andy 
Bridges,  general  superintendent  of  the  old 
home  road,  who  had  been  a  friend  of  fa- 
ther's, and  told  him  I  wanted  to  go  railroad- 
ing. He  offered  to  put  me  in  his  office,  but 
I  insisted  on  the  foot-board,  and  to  make  a 
long  story  short,  was  firing  inside  of  three 
weeks  and  running  inside  of  three  years. 

"I  was  the  proudest  young  prig  that  ever 
pulled  a  throttle.  I  always  loved  the  work 
and — well,  you  know  how  the  first  five  years 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  I2J 

of  it  absorbs  you  if  you  are  cut  out  for  it  and 
like  it  and  intend  to  stay  at  it. 

"I  had  been  running  about  two  years,  and 
had  paid  about  as  much  attention  to  young 
women  as  I  had  to  the  subject  of  astronomy, 
until  Madelene  Bridges  came  out  of  a  South- 
ern convent  to  make  her  home  with  her  un- 
cle, our  'old  man.' 

"The  first  time  I  saw  her  I  went  clean, 
stark,  raving,  blind,  drunken  daft  over  her. 
I  tried  to  argue  and  reason  myself  out  of  it, 
but  it  was  no  go.  I  didn't  even  know  who 
she  was  then. 

"But  I  was  in  love  and,  being  so,  wasn't 
hardly  safe  on  the  road. 

"Then  I  spruced  up  and  started  in  to  see 
if  I  couldn't  interest  her  in  me  half  as  much 
as  I  was  interested  in  her. 

"I  didn't  have  much  trouble  to  get  a  start, 
for  Andy  Bridges  had  come  up  from  the 
ranks  and  hadn't  forgotten  it — most  of  'em 
do — and  welcomed  any  decent  young  man  in 
his  house,  even  if  he  was  a  car  hand.  Made- 
lene had  a  couple  of  marriageable  cousins 
then  and  that  may  account  for  old  Andy. 


128        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

"I  got  on  pretty  well  at  first,  for  I  was 
first  in  the  field.  I  got  in  a  theatre  or  two 
before  the  other  young  fellows  caught  on. 
About  this  time  there  was  a  dance,  and  I  lost 
my  grip.  I  took  Madelene  but  couldn't 
dance,  and  all  the  others  could,  especially 
Dandy  Tamplin,  one  of  the  train  despatch- 
ers. 

"I  took  private  dancing  lessons,  however, 
and  squared  myself  that  way. 

"Singing  was  a  favorite  mode  of  passing 
the  evenings  with  the  young  folks  at  the 
Bridges's  home,  and  I  cursed  myself  for  be- 
ing tuneless. 

"It  finally  settled  down  to  a  race  between 
Tamplin  and  myself,  and  each  of  us  was  do- 
ing his  level  best.  I  was  so  dead  in  earnest 
and  so  truly  in  love  that  I  was  no  fit  company 
for  man  or  beast,  and  I'm  afraid  I  was  twice 
as  awkward  and  dull  in  Madelene's  presence 
as  in  any  other  place. 

"Dandy  Tamplin  was  a  handsome  young 
fellow,  and  a  formidable  rival,  for  he  was 
always  well-dressed,  a  good  talker  and  more 
or  less  of  a  lady's  man.  Besides  that,  he 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  129 

was  on  the  ground  all  the  time  and  I  had  to 
be  away  two-thirds  of  the  time  on  my  runs. 

"I  came  in  one  trip  determined  to  know 
my  fate  that  very  evening — had  my  little 
piece  all  committed  to  memory. 

"As  I  registered  I  heard  one  of  the  other 
despatchers,  behind  a  partition,  telling  some 
one  that  he  was  going  to  work  Dandy's 
trick  until  eleven  o'clock,  and  then  the  two 
entered  into  a  discussion  of  Dandy's  quest 
of  the  'old  man's'  niece,  one  of  them  remark- 
ing that  all  the  opposition  he  had  was  Hop- 
kins and  that  wasn't  worth  considering.  I 
resolved  to  get  to  Bridges's  ahead  of  Tam- 
plin. 

"But  man — railroad  man,  anyway — pro- 
poses and  the  superintendent  disposes.  I 
met  Bridges  at  the  door. 

"  'Hopkins,'  said  he,  'I  want  you  to  do  me 
a  personal  favor.' 

"  'Yes,  sir.' 

"  'I  want  you  to  double  out  in  half  an  hour 
on  some  perishable  freight  that's  coming  in 
from  the  West ;  there  isn't  one  available  en- 
gine in.  Will  you  do  it?' 


130        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

"  'Yes/  I  answered,  slowly,  showing  my 
disappointment.  'But,  Mr.  Bridges,  I  was 
particularly  anxious  to  go  up  to  your  house 
to-night;  I  intend  to  ask — ' 

"  'I  know,  I  know,'  said  he  kindly,  taking 
my  hand;  'It'll  be  all  right  I  hope;  there 
ain't  another  young  chap  I'd  like  to  see  go  up 
and  stay  better  than  you,  but  my  son,  she  will 
keep,  and  this  freight  wont.  You  go  out, 
and  I'll  promise  that  no  one  shall  get  a 
chance  to  ask  ahead  of  you.'  This  was  a 
friend  at  court  and  a  strong  one. 

"  'It  means  a  lot  to  me/  said  L 

"  'I  know  it  my  boy,  and  I'm  proud  to 
have  you  say  so  right  out  in  meeting,  but — 
well,  you  get  those  fruit  cars  in  by  moon- 
light, and  I'll  have  you  back  light,  and  you 
can  have  the  front  parlor  for  a  week.' 

"On  my  return  trip,  I  found  a  big  Howe 
truss  bridge  on  fire  and  didn't  get  in  for  two 
days.  The  road  was  blocked,  everything 
out  of  gear  and  I  had  to  double  back  again, 
whether  or  no. 

"I  was  'chewing  the  rag'  with  a  round- 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  131 

house  foreman  about  it  when  Old  Andy 
came  along. 

"  'Go  on,  Hopkins,'  said  he,  'and  you  can 
lay  off  when  you  get  brck.  I'm  going  South 
with  my  car  and  will  take  the  girls  with  me!' 

"That  was  hint  enough,  and  I  said  yes. 

"It  was  in  the  evening,  and  while  the  fire- 
man and  I  got  our  supper,  the  hostler  turned 
my  engine,  coaled  her  up,  took  water  and 
stood  her  on  the  north  branch  track,  next  the 
head  end  of  her  train,  that  had  not  yet  been 
entirely  made  up. 

"This  north  branch  came  into  the 
south  and  west  divisions  off  a  very  heavy 
grade  and  on  a  curve,  the  view  being  cut  off 
at  this  point  by  buildings  close  to  the  track. 
The  engine  herself  stood  close  to  the  office 
building,  and  after  oiling  around,  I  backed 
on  to  the  train,  bringing  my  cab  right  oppo- 
site a  window  in  the  despatcher's  office. 
Just  before  this  open  window  and  facing  me 
sat  Dandy  Tamplin  at  his  key.  I  hated 
Dandy  Tamplin. 

"It  was  dark  outside  and  in  the  cab,  the 
conductor  had  given  me  my  orders  and  said 


132        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

we'd  go  just  as  quick  as  the  pony  found  a 
couple  of  cars  more  and  put  them  on  the  hind 
end.  Dennis  had  put  in  a  big  fire  for  the 
hill,  and  then  gone  skylarking  around  the 
station,  and  I  was  in  the  dark  glaring  at 
Dandy  Tamplin  in  the  light. 

"The  blow-off  cock  on  this  engine  was  on 
the  right  side  and  opened  from  the  cab.  Or- 
dinarily, you  pulled  the  handle  up,  but  the 
last  time  the  boiler  was  washed  out  they  had 
turned  the  plug  cock  half  over  and  the  han- 
dle stuck  up  through  the  deck  among  the  oil 
cans  ahead  of  the  reverse  lever,  and  opened 
by  pushing  it  down.  I  remember  thinking 
it  was  dangerous,  as  a  man  might  accident- 
ally open  it.  On  the  cock  was  a  piece  of  pipe 
to  carry  the  hot  water  away  from  the  paint 
work,  and  this  stuck  straight  out  under  the 
footboard,  the  cock  leaked  a  little  and  the 
end  of  the  pipe  dripped  hot  water  and  steam. 

"While  I  glared  at  Tamplin,  old  man 
Bridges  and  the  girls  came  into  the  room. 
Bridges  went  up  to  the  narrow,  shelf-like 
counter,  looked  at  the  register  and  asked 
Tamplin  a  question. 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  133 

"Tamplin  went  up  to  the  group,  his  back 
to  me,  and  spoke  to  one  after  the  other. 
Madelene  was  the  last  in  the  row  and,  while 
the  others  were  talking,  laid  her  gloves,  veil 
and  some  flowers  on  the  counter.  Tamplin 
spoke  to  her  and  I  could  see  the  color  change 
in  her  face.  Oh!  if  I  only  had  hold  of 
Dandy  Tamplin. 

"Bridges  hurried  out  into  the  hall  behind 
the  passage  way,  the  girls  following.  Tam- 
plin turned  around  and  espied  Madelene's 
belongings.  He  went  up  to  them,  smelled 
the  flowers,  then  hurriedly  took  a  note  out  of 
his  pocket  and  slipped  it  into  one  of  the 
gloves.  The  other  glove  he  put  in  his  breast 
pocket.  It  was  well  for  Dandy  Tamplin  I 
didn't  have  a  gun. 

"Remember,  all  this  happened  quickly. 
Before  Tamplin  was  fairly  in  his  seat  and  at 
work,  Madelene  came  tripping  back  alone 
and  made  for  her  bundle,  but  Tamplin  left 
his  key  open  and  went  over  to  her.  I 
couldn't  hear  what  was  said  for  by  this  time 
the  safety  valves  of  my  engine  were  blowing- 
and  drowned  all  sound.  She  evidently  asked 


134        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

him  what  time  it  was  and  leaned  partly  over 
the  counter  to  hear  his  reply.  He  put  his 
hand  under  her  chin  and  turned  her  face 
toward  the  clock,  this  with  such  an  air  of 
assurance  that  my  heart  sank — but  murder 
was  in  my  soul.  Then  quickly  putting  his 
hand  behind  her  neck,  he  pulled  her  toward 
him  and  kissed  her.  I  was  a  demon  in  an 
instant. 

"She  sprang  away  from  him  and  ran  into 
the  hall  and  he  came  back  to  his  chair  with  a 
smile  of  triumph  on  his  thin  lips. 

"Somehow  or  other,  just  at  this  moment, 
I  noticed  the  steam  at  the  end  of  that  blow- 
off  pipe,  and  all  the  devils  in  hell  whispered 
at  once  'One  move  of  your  hand  and  your 
revenge  is  complete.'  I  wasn't  Steadman 
Hopkins  then,  I  was  a  madman  bent  on  mur- 
der, and  I  reached  down  for  that  handle, 
holding  on  by  the  throttle  with  my  left  hand. 
The  cock  had  some  mud  in  it  and  I  opened 
it  wide  before  it  blew  out  and  then  with  a 
roar  and  a  shriek  it  burst — and  the  crime 
was  done. 

"All  the  devils  flew  away  at  once  and  left 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  135 

me  alone,  naked  with  my  conscience.  'Mur- 
derer, murderer!'  resounded  in  my  ears; 
hisses,  roars  and  screams  seemed  to  come 
to  fill  my  brain  and  dance  around  my  con- 
demned soul;  voices  seemed  shrieking  and 
crash  upon  crash  seemed  to  smite  my  ears. 
I  thought  I  was  dying,  and  I  remember  dis- 
tinctly how  glad  I  was.  I  didn't  let  go  of 
that  valve,  I  couldn't — I'd  go  to  hell  with  it 
in  my  hand  and  let  them  do  their  worst. 

"Then  remorse  took  possession  of  me. 
Wasn't  it  enough  to  maim  and  disfigure  poor 
Tamplin,  why  cook  him  to  death — I'd  shut 
off  that  cock.  I  fought  with  it,  but  it 
wouldn't  close,  and  I  called  Dennis  to  help 
me. 

"Some  one  stood  behind  me  and  put  a  cool 
hand  on  my  brow,  and  a  woman's  voice  said, 
Toor  brave  fellow,  he's  still  thinking  of  his 
duty;  all  the  heroes  don't  live  in  books.' 

"I  opened  my  eyes,  and  looked  around.  I 
was  in  St.  Mary's  Hospital,  and  a  nun  was 
talking  to  herself. 

"Well,  John,  I'd  been  there  for  more  than 
six  weeks,  and  it  took  six  more  before  I  un- 


136        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

derstood  just  what  had  happened  and  could 
hobble  around,  for  I  had  legs  and  ribs  and 
an  arm  broken. 

"It  must  have  been  at  the  moment  I 
opened  that  blow-off  cock  that  part  of  a  run- 
away train  came  down  the  north  grade, 
backward,  like  a  whirlwind  and  buried  my 
engine  and  myself,  piling  up  an  awful  wreck 
that  took  fire.  I  was  rescued  at  the  last  mo- 
ment by  the  crowd  of  railroad  men  that  col- 
lected and  bodily  tore  the  wreck  apart  to  get 
at  me.  Every  one  thought  I  tried  to  close 
that  blow-off  cock  and  hold  the  throttle  shut. 
I  was  a  hero  in  the  papers  and  to  the  men, 
and  I  couldn't  get  a  chance  to  tell  the  truth 
if  I  dared,  and  I  was  afraid  to  ask  about 
Dandy  Tamplin. 

"No  word  came  from  Madelene.  One  day 
Bridges  came  to  see  me,  and  brought  me  this 
watch  I  wear  now,  a  present  from  the  com- 
pany. I  determined  to  tell  Bridges — but  he 
wouldn't  believe  me.  Looked,  too,  as  if  he 
thought  I  was  off  in  my  head  yet  and  I  must 
have  looked  crazy,  for  most  of  these  brands 
I  got  that  night.  To  be  sure  I've  added  to 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  137 

the  collection  here  and  there,  but  I  never  was 
pretty  after  that  roundup. 

"At  last  I  mustered  up  courage  and  asked : 
'How  is  Tamplin?'  'All  right,  working 
right  along,  but  takes  it  hard,'  said  Bridges. 

"  'Was  he  laid  up  long?  Is  he  as  badly 
disfigured  as  I  am?' 

"  'Why,  man,  he  wasn't  touched.  He  had 
gone  to  the  other  end  of  the  room  for  a  drink 
of  water.  I'm  afraid,  my  boy,  its  Madelene 
he's  worried  about.' 

"  'She  has  refused  him  then  ?' 

"  'Well,  I  don't  know  that.  She  is  still 
in  bed,  badly  hurt.  She  has  not  seen  a  soul 
but  her  nurse,  the  doctor  and  my  wife,  and 
denies  herself  to  all  callers,  even  her  best 
friends,  even  to  me.' 

"Chum,  I  won't  tell  you  what  I  said  or 
suffered.  Madelene  had  come  into  the  room 
again  for  her  belongings,  and  had  faced  the 
dagger  of  steam  sent  by  the  hand  of  a  man 
who  would  give  his  immortal  soul  to  make 
her  well  again. 

"I  couldn't  get  around  much,  but  I  wrote 


1 38    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

her  a  brief  note  asking  if  I  might  call  and 
sent  it  by  a  messenger. 

"She  replied  that  she  could  not  see  me 
then.  I  waited.  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  write 
a  confession  I  wanted  to  make  in  person,  so 
after  a  week  or  two  I  went  to  the  house. 

"Madelene  sent  down  word  that  she 
couldn't  see  me  then  and  could  not  tell  when 
she  would  see  me. 

"I  thought  the  nurse,  who  acted  as  mes- 
senger, did  not  interpret  either  my  message 
or  hers  as  they  were  intended — I  would 
write  a  note. 

"I  stepped  into  the  library  on  one  side  of 
the  hall,  made  myself  at  home  and  wrote 
Madelene  a  note,  a  love  letter,  begging  for 
just  one  interview.  Taking  blame  for  all 
that  had  happened  and  confessing  my  love 
and  devotion  to  her. 

"It  was  a  long  letter  and  just  as  I  finished 
it,  I  heard  some  one  in  the  hall.  I  thought  it 
was  a  servant  and  started  for  the  doorway 
to  ask  her  to  carry  my  message.  It  was  the 
nurse. 

"I  was  partly  concealed  by  the  portieres. 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  139 

She  was  facing  the  door,  her  finger  on  her 
lips,  and  before  her  stood  Dandy  Tamplin. 

"  'It's  all  right'  she  whispered,  'be  still,' 
and  both  of  them  tip-toed  up-stairs. 

"This,  then  was  why  I  could  not  see 
Madelene.  Dandy  Tamplin  was  her  ac- 
cepted lover. 

"That  night  I  left  the  old  home  for  good 
to  seek  my  fortunes  and  forgetfulness  far 
away.  I  didn't  care  where,  so  long  as  it  was 
a  great  way  off. 

"At  New  York  I  found  some  engineers 
going  out  to  run  on  the  Meig's  road  in  Peru. 
I  signed  a  contract  and  in  two  days  was  on 
the  Atlantic,  bound  for  the  Isthmus  of 
Panama. 

"I  ran  an  engine  in  Peru  until  the  war 
broke  out  with  Chili.  I  was  sent  to  the  front 
with  a  train  of  soldiers  one  day  and  got  on 
the  battle  field.  Our  side  was  getting  badly 
worsted,  and  I  got  excited  and  jumping  off 
the  engine,  armed  myself  and  lit  into  the 
fight.  A  little  crowd  gathered  around  me 
and  I  found  myself  the  leader,  no  officer  in 
sight.  There  was  a  charge  and  we  didn't 


1 40        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

run — surprised  the  Chilians.  I  got  some  of 
these  blue  brands  on  my  left  cheek  there  and 
made  a  new  reputation.  Before  I  knew  it, 
I  had  on  a  uniform  and  dangled  a  sword. 
They  nicknamed  me  the  'Fighting  Yankee.' 

"Peru  had  lots  of  trouble  and  I  saw  a  good 
deal  of  it.  When  it  was  all  over,  I  found  my- 
self in  command  of  a  gun  boat,  just  a  tug, 
but  she  was  alive  and  had  accounted  for  her- 
self several  times. 

"The  president  sent  me  on  a  special  mis- 
sion to  Chili  just  after  the  close  of  the  war, 
and,  all  togged  out  in  a  new  uniform,  I  went 
on  board  of  an  American  ship  at  Callao 
bound  for  Valparaiso.  I  thought  I  was  some 
pumpkins  then.  I'd  lived  a  rough  and  tum- 
ble life  for  about  three  years  and  was  begin- 
ning to  like  it — and  to  forget. 

"I  used  to  do  the  statuesque  before  the 
passengers,  my  scars  attested  my  fighting 
propensities,  and  there  were  several  Peru- 
vian liars  aboard  that  knew  me  by  reputa- 
tion, and  enlarged  on  it. 

"We  touched  at  Coquimbo  and  an  Ameri- 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  141 

can  civil  engineer  and  family  came  aboard, 
homeward  bound. 

"That  afternoon  I  was  lolling  in  the  smok- 
ing-room on  deck,  when  I  was  attracted  by 
the  sound  of  ladies  talking  on  the  promenade 
just  outside  the  open  port  where  I  sat.  It 
was  the  engineer's  wife  and  daughter. 

"  'Mamma,'  said  the  young  lady.  'I  must 
read  you  Madelene's  letter.  Poor,  dear 
Madelene,  it's  just  too  sorrowful  and  ro- 
mantic for  anything.' 

"Madelene !  I  hadn't  heard  that  name  pro- 
nounced for  three  years.  It  was  wrong,  I 
knew  it,  but  I  listened. 

"  'Poor  dear,  she  was  awfully  hurt  and 
disfigured  in  a  railroad  wreck.' 

"It  was  my  Madelene  they  were  talking 
about.  Wild  horses  could  not  have  dragged 
me  from  the  spot. 

"The  gir.l  read  something  like  this.  I 
know  for  I've  read  that  letter  a  hundred 
times.  It's  in  this  pile  here. 

"  'Dear  Lottie :  Your  ever  welcome' — 
'no,  not  that.' 

"  'Uncle  Andrew  is  going' — 'let  me  see, 


142         STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

Oh !  yes,  here  it  is,  now  listen  Mamma,'  said 
the  girl. 

"  'Dear  Schoolmate.  I  have  never  told  a 
soul  about  my  troubles  or  my  trials,  for  long 
I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  them  myself. 
But  lately  I  have  seen  it  in  its  true  light,  and 
have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  I  have  no 
right  to  moan  my  life  away.  I'm  past  all 
that,  there  is  nothing  for  me  to  live  for  in 
myself,  but  my  life  is  spared  for  some  pur- 
pose, and  I  propose  to  devote  it  to  doing 
good  to  others' — 'isn't  she  a  sweet  soul, 
mamma  ?' 

"  'After  I  came  to  live  with  Uncle  An- 
drew, I  was  very  happy,  it  seemed  like  a  re- 
lease from  prison.  I  saw  much  company, 
and  in  six  months  had  two  lovers — more 
than  I  deserved.  One  of  these  was  a  plain, 
honest  manly  man;  he  was  one  of  Uncle 
Andrew's  engineers.  He  wasn't  handsome, 
but  he  was  the  kind  of  man  that  sensible 
women  love.  The  other  was  a  handsome, 
showy,  witty  man,  also  an  employee  of  the 
railroad,  considered  'the  catch'  among  the 
girls.  Really,  Lottie,  both  of  them  tried  to 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  143 

propose  and  I  wouldn't  let  them,  I  didn't 
know  which  one  of  them  I  liked  best.  But 
if  things  had  taken  the  usual  course,  I  should 
have  married  the  handsome  one — and  been 
sorry  forever  after.' 

"My  heart  stood  still — she  hadn't  married 
Dandy  Tamplin  after  all." 

1  'The  night  of  the  wreck,  I  was  going 
out  on  Uncle  Andrew's  private  car.  The 
handsome  man  was  on  duty  in  the  office. 
The  plain  man  on  an  engine  that  stood  be- 
fore the  open  window,  I  didn't  know  that 
then. 

'  "A  runaway  train  crashed  into  the  en- 
gine and  something  exploded  and  a  stream 
of  boiling  water  came  into  the  room  and 
scalded  me  beyond  recognition.  You  would 
not  know  me,  Lottie,  I  am  so  disfigured. 

"  The  handsome  man  did  nothing  but 
wring  his  hands ;  the  plain  one  staid  on  the 
engine  and  tried  to  stop  the  steam  from  com- 
ing out,  and  was  himself  terribly  injured. 

"  T  was  for  weeks  in  bed  and  suffered 
mental  agony  much  beyond  the  merely 
physical  pain.  I  was  so  wicked  I  cursed 


144        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

my  life  and  my  Maker  and  prayed  for  death 
— yet  I  lived.  I  was  so  resentful,  so  heart- 
broken, so  wicked,  that  I  refused  to  speak 
for  weeks,  then,  when  I  tried,  I  couldn't, 
God  had  put  the  curse  of  silence  on  my  wick- 
edness/ 

"Think  of  Madelene  being  wicked, 
Chum. 

"  'When  I  was  getting  well  enough  and 
reconciled  to  my  own  fate,  enough  to  think 
of  others,  I  thought  of  my  two  lovers.  Then 
I  asked  my  nurse  for  a  glass.  One  look,  and 
I  made  up  my  mind  never  to  see  either  of 
them  again. 

"  'Both  of  them  were  clamoring  to  see  me, 
and  I  refused  to  see  either.  The  plain  man 
wrote  me  the  only  love  letter  I  ever  received. 
I  have  worn  it  out  reading  it.  It  was  so 
manly,  so  unselfish !  He  blamed  himself 
for  the  accident,  and  offered  me  his  devotion 
and  love,  no  matter  in  what  condition  the 
letter  found  me.  This  letter  he  wrote  in 
Uncle  Andrew's  library,  left  it  open  on  the 
desk  and — disappeared. 

"  'I  have  never  heard  from  him  from  that 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  145 

day  to  this.  I  never  could  understand  it. 
A  man  that  could  write  that  letter,  couldn't 
run  away.  The  last  sentence  in  his  letter 
proved  that.  It  said:  "Remember,  dear 
Madelene,  that  somewhere,  somehow,  I  am 
thinking  of  you  always;  that  whether  you 
see  me  or  not,  you  will  some  day  come  to 
know  that  I  love  your  soul,  not  your  face; 
that  your  life  is  dear  to  me,  and  no  calamity 
can  make  any  difference." 

"  'Those  were  brave  words,  and  after  I 
read  them,  I  knew  for  the  first  time  that  this 
was  the  man  I  loved.  They  told  me  he  was 
frightfully  disfigured,  too,  but  that  made  no 
difference  to  me,  I  loved  him.  But  he  was 
gone,  no  one  knew  where.  Why  did  he  go  ? 

"  'The  handsome  man  disappeared  the 
same  day,  and  he  never  came  back,  but  he 
left  no  letter. 

"  'Dear  Lottie,  I  have  only  now  solved  the 
mystery.  My  sometime  nurse  has  just  con- 
fessed that  the  night  the  letter  was  written 
the  other  man  came  to  the  house,  like  a  thief, 
he  had  bribed  her  to  give  me  drugs  to  make 
me  sleep  and  then  she  led  him  into  my  room 


146    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

and  showed  him  my  scars.  If  he  ever  loved 
me  at  all,  he  was  in  love  with  my  face;  the 
other  man  loved  me.  One  went  away  be- 
cause he  saw  me,  the  other  one  because  he 
saw  his  rival  apparently  granted  the  inter- 
view refused  to  him.  My  true  lover  must 
have  seen  that  man  sneaking  up  to  my  room.' 

"John,  every  fibre  of  my  being  danced  for 
joy.  I  didn't  hear  the  rest,  and  she  read 
several  pages.  I  had  heard  enough. 

"I  went  right  out  on  the  deck,  begged  par- 
don to  begin  with,  introduced  myself,  con- 
fessed to  eavesdropping,  told  who  I  was, 
where  I  had  been  and  asked  for  that  letter. 

"I  got  it  and  Madelene's  picture ;  the  one 
you  have  seen  on  my  clock. 

"I  finished  my  task  at  Valparaiso  while  the 
vessel  lay  there,  reported  by  mail,  and  came 
home  on  the  same  ship. 

"I  took  that  letter  and  photograph  to 
Andy  Bridges's  house  and  wrote  across  the 
envelope  'Madelene  Bridges,  I  demand  your 
immediate  and  unconditional  surrender, 
signed,  Steadman  H.  Hopkins.' 

"And  I  got  it  in  five  minutes.    Chum,  that 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  147 

is  the  only  case  on  record  where  something 
worth  having  was  ever  surrendered  to  an 
officer  of  the  Peruvian  government. 

"In  six  months  I  was  back  on  an  engine 
in  a  new  country,  with  my  silent,  loved  and 
loving  wife,  in  a  new  home.  Three  times 
before  now  someone  has  seen  Madelene's 
face,  twice  I  told  this  story,  and  then  we 
moved  away ;  once  I  told  it  and  trusted,  and 
it  was  not  repeated.  Madelene  can  stand 
being  a  mystery  and  wondered  at,  but  she 
cannot  stand  pity  and  curiosity.  As  for  you, 
old  Chum,  I  haven't  even  asked  you  not  to 
repeat  what  I  have  told  you — I  know  you 
won't." 

After  a  long  while,  I  turned  to  Hopkins 
and  said :  "And  yet,  Hopkins,  fools  say  there 
is  no  romance  in  railroad  life.  This  is  a 
story  worth  reading,  and  some  day  I'd  like 
to  write  it." 

"Not  in  Madelene's  time,  or  in  mine, 
Chum,  but  if  ever  a  time  comes,  I'll  send  you 
a  token." 

"Send  me  your  picture,  Hop." 

"No,  I'll  send  you  Madelene's.     No,  I'll 


148        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

send  you  the  clock  with  the  'talking  eyes.' ' 

And  standing  at  Hopkins's  gate,  the  scar- 
faced  man  with  the  romance  and  I  parted, 
like  ships  that  meet,  hail  and  pass  on,  never 
to  meet  again.  Hopkins  and  I  moved  away 
from  one  another,  each  on  his  own  course, 
across  the  seven  seas  of  life. 

And  all  this  happened  almost  twenty  years 
ago. 

The  other  day,  my  office  boy  brought  me  a 
card  that  read,  "Mrs.  Henry  Adams,  Wash- 
ington, D.  C."  "Is  she  a  book  agent?"  I 
asked. 

"Nope,  don't  look  like  one." 

"Show  her  in." 

A  young  woman  came  in,  looked  at  me 
hard  for  a  moment,  laid  a  package  on  my 
desk  and  asked, 

"Is  this  the  Mr.  Alexander  who  used  to  be 
an  engineer?" 

I  confessed. 

"I  don't  suppose  you  remember  me,"  she 
asked. 

I  put  on  my  glasses  and  looked  at  her. 
No,  I  never — then  she  put  her  handkerchief 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  EYES  149 

up  to  her  lips  covering  the  lower  part  of  her 
face ;  it  was  the  face  of  Madelene  Hopkins. 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "I  remember  you  perfectly, 
seventeen  or  eighteen  years  ago  you  used  to 
sit  on  my  knee  and  call  me  'Untie  Tummy/ 
and  I  called  you  Maddie." 

Then  we  laughed  and  shook  hands. 

"Mr.  Alexander,"  said  she,  "In  looking 
over  some  of  father's  papers,  we  came  across 
a  request  that  under  certain  conditions  you 
were  to  be  sent  an  old  keepsake  of  his,  a  clock 
with  mother's  picture  on  it.  I  have  brought 
it  to  you." 

"And  your  father  and  mother,  what  of 
them,  my  friend?"  I  asked,  for  the  promise 
of  that  clock  "under  certain  conditions"  was 
coming  back  to  me. 

"Haven't  you  heard,  sir,  poor  papa  and 
mama  were  lost  in  that  awful  wreck  at 
Castleton,  two  years  ago." 

And  as  I  write,  from  the  dial  of  "Scar 
Faced"  Hopkins's  clock  "My  Lady  of  the 
Eyes"  looks  down  at  me  from  across  the 
mystery  of  eternity.  The  eyes  do  not  change 
as  once  they  did,  or  has  age  dimmed  my 


l5o        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

sight  and  imagination?  Long  I  look  into 
their  peaceful  depths  thinking  of  their  story, 
and  ask,  "Dear  Eyes,  is  it  well  with  thee?" 
— and  they  seem  to  answer,  "It  is  well." 


Some   Freaks  of  Fate 


SOME   FREAKS   OF   FATE 

I  AM  just  back  from  a  visit  to  old  scenes, 
old  chums  and  old  memories  of  my  interest- 
ing experience  on  the  western  fringe  of  Un- 
cle Sam's  great,  gray  blanket — the  plains. 

If  some  of  these  fellows  who  know  more 
about  writing  than  about  running  engines 
would  only  go  out  there  for  a  year  and  keep 
their  eyes  and  ears  and  brains  open,  and 
mouths  shut,  they  could  come  home  and 
write  us  some  true  stories  that  would  make 
fiction-grinders  exceedingly  weary. 

The  frontier  attracts  strong  characters, 
men  with  pioneer  spirit,  men  who  are  willing 
to  sacrifice  something,  in  order  to  gain  an 
end;  men  with  loves  and  men  with  hates. 
Bad  men  are  there,  some  of  them  hunted 
from  Eastern  communities,  perhaps,  but  you 
will  find  no  fools  and  mighty  few  weak  faces 
153 


1 54        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

— there's  character  in  every  feature  you  look 
at. 

Every  one  is  there  for  a  purpose;  to  ac- 
complish something;  to  get  ahead  in  the 
world ;  to  make  a  new  start ;  perhaps  to  live 
down  something,  or  to  get  out  of  the  rut  cut 
by  ancestors ;  some  may  only  want  to  drink, 
and  shout,  and  shoot,  but  even  these  do  it 
with  a  vim — they  mean  it. 

Of  the  many  men  who  ran  engines  at  the 
front,  with  me  in  the  old  days,  I  recall  few 
whose  lives  were  purposeless;  almost  every 
one  had  a  life-story. 

If  there's  anything  that  I  enjoy,  it's  to  sit 
down  to  a  pipe  and  a  life-story — told  by  the 
subject  himself.  How  many  have  I  listened 
to,  out  there,  and  every  one  of  them  worthy 
the  pen  of  a  Kipling ! 

The  population  of  the  frontier  is  never  all 
made  up  of  men,  and  the  women  all  have 
strong  features,  too — self-sacrifice,  devotion, 
degradation,  or  something,  is  written  on 
every  face.  There  are  no  blanks  in  that  lot- 
tery— there's  little  material  there  for  homes 
of  feeble-minded. 


SOME  FREAKS  OF  FATE  155 

It  isn't  strange,  either,  when  you  come  to 
think  of  it;  fools  never  go  anywhere,  they 
are  just  born  and  raised.  If  they  move  it's 
because  they  are  "took" — you  never  heard 
of  a  pioneer  fool. 

One  of  the  strongest  characters  I  ever 
knew  was  a  runner  out  there  by  the  name  of 
Gunderson — Oscar  Gunderson.  He  was  of 
Swedish  parentage,  very  light-complexioned, 
very  large,  and  a  splendid  mechanic,  as 
Swedes  are  apt  to  be  when  they  try.  Gunder- 
son's  name  was,  I  suppose,  properly  entered 
on  the  company's  time-book,  but  it  never  was 
in  the  nomenclature  of  the  road.  With  the 
railroaders'  gift  for  abbreviation  and  nick- 
name, Gunderson  soon  came  down  to  "Gun," 
his  size,  head,  hand  or  heart  furnished  the 
prefix  of  "Big,"  and  "Big  Gun"  he  remains 
to-day.  "Big  Gun"  among  his  friends,  but 
simple  "Gun"  to  me.  I  think  I  called  him 
"Gun"  from  the  start. 

Gun  ran  himself  as  he  did  his  engine,  ex- 
ercised the  same  care  of  himself,  and  always 
talked  engine  about  his  own  anatomy, 
clothes,  food  and  drink. 


156        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

His  hat  was  always  referred  to  as  his 
"dome-casing;"  his  Brotherhood  pin  was  his 
"number-plate;"  his  coat  was  "the  jacket;" 
his  legs  the  "drivers;"  his  hands  "the  pins;" 
arms  were  "side-rods;"  stomach  "firebox;" 
and  his  mouth  "the  pop." 

He  invariably  referred  to  a  missing  sus- 
pender-button as  a  broken  "spring-hanger;" 
to  a  limp  as  a  "flat-wheel;"  he  "fired  up" 
when  eating;  he  "took  water,"  the  same  as 
the  engine;  and  "oiled  round,"  when  he 
tasted  whisky. 

Gun  knew  all  the  slang  and  shop-talk  of 
the  road,  and  used  it — was  even  accused  of 
inventing  much  of  it — but  his  engine  talk 
was  unique  and  inimitable. 

We  roomed  together  a  whole  winter ;  and 
often,  after  I  had  gone  to  bed,  Gun  would 
come  in,  and  as  he  peeled  off  his  clothes  he 
would  deliver  himself  something  as  follows : 

"Say,  John,  you  don't  know  who  I  met  on 
the  up  trip?  Well,  sir,  Dock  Taggert.  I 
was  sailin'  along  up  the  main  line  near  Bob's, 
and  who  should  I  see  but  Dock  backed  in  on 
the  sidin' — seemed  kinder  dilapidated,  like 


SOME  FREAKS  OF  FATE  157 

he  was  runnin'  on  one  side.  I  jest  slammed 
on  the  wind  and  went  over  and  shook.  Dock 
looks  pretty  tough,  John — must  have  been 
out  surfacing  track,  ain't  been  wiped  in  Lord 
knows  when,  oiled  a  good  deal,  but  nary  a 
wipe,  jacket  rusted  and  streaked,  tire  double 
flanged,  valves  blowin',  packing  down,  don't 
seem  to  steam,  maybe's  had  poor  coal,  or  is 
all  limed  up.  He's  got  to  go  through  the 
back  shop  'efore  the  old  man'll  ever  let  him 
into  the  roundhouse.  I  set  his  packin'  out 
and  put  him  in  a  stall  at  the  Gray's  corral; 
hope  he'll  brace  up.  Dock's  a  mighty  good 
workin'  scrap,  if  you  could  only  get  him  to 
carryin'  his  water  right ;  if  he'd  come  down 
to  three  gauges  he'd  be  a  dandy,  but  this 
tryin'  to  run  first  section  with  a  flutter  in  the 
stack  all  the  time  is  no  good — he  must  'a 
flagged  in." 

Which,  being  translated  into  English, 
would  carry  the  information  that  Gun  had 
seen  one  of  the  old  ex-engineers  at  Bob  Slat- 
tery's  saloon,  had  stopped  and  greeted  him. 
Dock  looked  as  if  he  had  tramped,  had 
drank,  was  dirty,  coat  had  holes,  soles  of  his 


1 58        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

boots  badly  worn,  wheezing,  seemed  hungry 
and  lifeless,  been  eating  poor  food,  and  was 
in  a  general  run-down  condition.  Gun  had 
"set  out  his  packing"  by  feeding  him  and  put 
him  in  a  bed  at  the  Grand  Central  Hotel — 
nicknamed  the  "Grayback's  Corral."  Gun 
thought  he  would  have  to  reform,  before  the 
M.  M.  put  him  into  active  service.  He  was 
a  good  engineer,  but  drank  too  much,  and 
lastly,  he  was  in  so  bad  a  condition  he  could 
not  get  himself  into  headquarters  unless 
someone  helped  him  by  "flagging"  for  him. 

Gun  was  a  bachelor ;  he  came  to  us  from 
the  Pacific  side,  and  told  me  once  that  he 
first  went  west  on  account  of  a  woman,  but 
— begging  Mr.  Kipling's  pardon — that's 
another  story. 

"I  don't  think  I'd  care  to  double-crew  my 
mill,"  Gun  would  say  when  the  conversation 
turned  to  matrimony.  "I've  been  raised  to 
keep  your  own  engine  and  take  care  of  it, 
and  pull  what  you  could.  In  double-head- 
ing there's  always  a  row  as  to  who  ought  to 
go  ahead  and  enjoy  the  scenery  or  stay  be- 
hind and  eat  cinders." 


SOME  FREAKS  OF  FATE  I  59 

I  knew  from  the  first  that  Gun  had  a  story 
to  tell,  if  he'd  only  give  it  up,  and  I  fear  I 
often  led  up  to  it,  with  the  hope  that  he 
would  tell  it  to  me — but  he  never  did. 

My  big  friend  sent  a  sum  of  money  away 
every  month,  I  supposed  to  some  relative, 
until  one  day  I  picked  up  from  the  floor  a 
folded  paper  dirty  from  having  been  carried 
long  in  Gun's  pocket,  and  found  a  receipt. 
It  read : 

"MISSION,  SAN  ANTONIO,  Jan.  i,  1878. 
"Received  of  O.  Gunderson,  for    Mabel 
Rogers,  $40.00. 

"SISTER  THERESA." 

Ah,  a  little  girl  in  the  story!  I  thought; 
it's  a  sad  story,  then.  There's  nothing  so 
pure  and  beautiful  and  sweet  and  joyous  as 
a  little  girl,  yet  when  a  little  girl  has  a  story 
it's  almost  always  a  sad  story. 

I  gave  Gun  the  paper;  he  thanked  me; 
said  he  must  look  out  better  for  those  re- 
ceipts, and  added  that  he  was  educating  a 
bit  of  a  girl  out  on  the  coast. 

"Yours,  Gun  ?"  I  asked  kindly. 


1 60        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

"No,  John;  she  ain't;  I'd  give  $5,000  if 
she  was." 

He  looked  at  me  straight,  with  that  clear, 
blue  eye,  and  I  knew  he  told  me  the  truth. 

"How  old  is  she?"  I  asked. 

"I  don't  know ;   'bout  five  or  six." 

"Ever  seen  her?" 

"No." 

"Where  did  you  get  her?" 

"Ain't  had  her/" 

"Tell  me  about  her?" 

"She  was  willed  to  me,  John,  kinder  put  in 
extra,  but  I  can't  tell  you  her  story  now, 
partly  because  I  don't  know  it  all  myself,  and 
partly  because  I  won't — I  won't  even  tell 
her." 

I  did  not  again  refer  to  Gun's  little  girl, 
and  soon  other  experiences  and  other  biogra- 
phies crowded  the  story  out  of  my  mind. 

One  evening  in  the  spring,  I  sat  by  the 
open  window,  enjoying  the  cool  night  breeze 
from  off  the  mountains,  when  I  heard  Gun's 
cheery  voice  on  the  porch  below.  He  was 
lecturing  his  fireman,  in  his  own,  unique 
way. 


SOME  FREAKS  OF  FATE  l6l 

"Well,  Jim,  if  I  ain't  ashamed  of  you! 
There  ain't  no  one  but  you ;  coming  into  gen- 
eral headquarters  with  a  flutter  in  the  stack, 
so  full  that  you  can't  whistle,  air-pump  a- 
squealing  'count  of  water,  smeared  from 
stack  to  man-hole,  headlight  smoked  and 
glimmery,  don't  know  your  own  rights,  kind 
o'  runnin'  wildcat,  without  proper  signals, 
imagining  you're  first  section  with  a  regard- 
less order.  You  want  to  blow  out,  man,  and 
trim  up,  get  your  packing  set  out  and  carry 
less  juice.  You're  worse  than  one  of  them 
slippin',  dancin',  three-legged,  no-good 
Grants.  The  next  time  I  catch  you  at  high- 
tide,  I'll  scrap  you,  that's  what  I'll  do,  fire 
you  into  the  scrap-pile.  Why  can't  you  use 
some  judgment  in  your  runnin'  ?  Why  can't 
you  say,  'Why,  here's  the  town  of  Whisky, 
I'm  going  to  stop  here  and  oil  around,'  sail 
right  into  town,  put  the  air  on  steady  and 
fine,  bring  her  right  down  to  the  proper  gait, 
throw  her  into  full  release,  so  as  to  just  stop 
right,  shut  off  your  squirt,  drop  a  little  oil 
on  the  worst  points,  ring  your  bell  and  sail 
on. 


1 62    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

"But  you,  you  come  into  town  forty  miles 
an  hour,  jam  on  the  emergency  and  while  the 
passengers  pick  'emselves  out  of  the  ends  of 
the  cars,  you  go  into  the  supply  house  and 
leave  the  injector  on,  and  then,  when  you  do 
move,  you're  too  full  to  go  without  opening 
your  cylinder  cocks  and  givin'  yourself  dead 
away. 

"Now,  I'm  goin'  to  Californ',  next  month, 
and  if  you  get  so  as  you  can  tell  when  you've 
got  enough  liquor  without  waiting  for  it  to 
break  your  injectors,  I'll  ask  the  old  man  to 
let  you  finger  the  plug  on  Old  Baldy  whilst 
I'm  gone.  But  I'm  damned  if  I  don't  feel 
as  if  you  was  like  that  measly  old  19 — jest 
fit  to  be  jacked  up  to  saw  wood  with." 

While  Gun  was  in  California,  I  was  taken 
home  on  a  requisition  from  my  wife,  and 
Oscar  Gunderson  and  his  little  girl  became 
a  memory — a  page  in  a  book  that  I  had 
partly  read  and  lost,  but  not  entirely  for- 
gotten. 

One  day  last  summer  I  took  the  west- 
bound express  at  Topeka,  and  spreading  my 
grip,  hat,  coat  and  umbrella,  out  on  the  seats, 


SOME  FREAKS  OF  FATE  163 

so  as  to  resemble  an  experienced  English 
tourist,  I  fished  up  a  Wheeling  stogie  and  a 
book  and  went  into  the  smoking-pen  of  the 
sleeper,  which  I  had  all  to  myself  for  half- 
an-hour. 

The  train  stopped  to  give  the  thirsty  ten- 
der a  drink  and  a  man  came  in  to  wash  his 
hands.  He  had  been  riding  on  the  engine. 

After  washing,  he  stepped  to  the  door  of 
the  "smokery, "struck  a  match  on  the  leg  of 
his  pants,  held  both  hands  around  the  end  of 
his  cigar  while  he  lighted  it,  then  waving  the 
match  to  put  it  out,  he  threw  it  down  and 
came  in. 

While  he  was  absorbed  in  all  this,  I  took 
a  glance  at  him.  Six-foot-four,  if  an  inch ; 
high  cheek  bones;  yellow  beard;  clear,  blue 
eyes ;  white  skin,  and  a  hand  about  the  size  of 
a  Cincinnati  ham.  I  knew  that  face  despite 
twelve  years  of  turkey-tracks  about  the  eyes. 

"Gunderson,  old  man,  how  are  you?"  I 
said,  offering  my  fin. 

"Well,  John  Alexander,  how  in  the  name 
of  thunder  did  you  get  away  out  here  on  the 
main  stem,  without  orders?" 


1 64   STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

"Inspection-car,"  said  I ;  "how  did  you  get 
here?" 

"Deadheading  home;  been  out  on  special, 
a  gilt-edged  special,  took  her  clean  through 
to  New  York." 

"You  did!"  I  exclaimed;  "why,  how  was 
that?" 

"Went  up  special  to  a  weddin',  don't  you 
see  ?  Went  up  to  see  a  new  compound  start 
off — prettiest  sight  I  ever  saw — working 
smooth  as  grease;  but  I'm  kind  of  dubious 
about  repairs  and  general  running.  I'm  anx- 
ious to  see  how  the  performance  sheet  looks 
at  the  end  of  the  year,  John." 

"Who's  been  double-heading,  Gun  ?" 

"Why — why,  my  little  girl,  trimmest, 
neatest,  slickest  little  mill  you  ever  saw. 
Lord !  but  she  was  painted  red  and  white  and 
gold-leaf,  three  brass  bands  on  her  stack, 
solid  nickel  trimming,  all  the  latest  improve- 
ments, corrugated  firebox,  high  pressure 
smoke  consumer  and  sand- jet — jest  made  a 
purpose  for  specials,  and  pay-car.  But  if  she 
ain't  got  herself  coupled  onto  a  long-fire- 
boxed  ten-wheeler,  with  a  big  lap  and  a  Joy 


SOME  FREAKS  OF  FATE 

gear,  you  can  put  me  down  for  a  clinker. 
Yes,  sir ;  the  baby  is  a  heart-breaker  on  dress- 
parade,  and  the  ten-wheeler  is  a  whale  on 
business,  and  if  they  don't  jump  the  track, 
you  watch  out  for  some  express  speed  that 
will  make  the  canals  sick,  see  if  they  don't." 

Without  giving  me  time  to  say  a  word, 
he  was  off  again. 

"You  ought  to  seen  'em  start  out,  nary  a 
slip,  cutting  off  square  as  a  die,  small  one 
ahead  speaking  her  little  piece  chipper  and 
fast  on  account  of  her  smaller  wheels,  and 
the  ten-wheeler  barking  bass,  steady  as  a 
clock,  with  a  hundred-and-enough  on  the 
gauge,  a  full  throttle,  and  half  a  pipe  of  sand. 
,You  couldn't  tell  to  save  you  whether  the  lit- 
tle one  was  pulling  the  big  one  or  the  big  one 
shoving  the  little — never  saw  a  relief  train 
start  out  in  such  shape  in  my  life." 

Gunderson  was  evidently  enthusiastic  over 
the  marriage  of  his  little  girl. 

We  talked  over  old  times  and  the  changes, 
and  followed  each  other  up  to  date  with  a 
great  deal  of  mutual  enjoyment,  until  the 


1 66         STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

porter  demanded  the  "smokery"  for  his 
bunk. 

As  we  started  for  bed,  Gun  laid  his  hand 
on  my  shoulder  and  said : 

"John,  a  good  many  years  ago,  you  asked 
me  to  tell  you  the  story  of  my  little  girl.  I 
refused  then  for  her  sake.  I'll  tell  you  in  the 
morning." 

After  a  hearty  breakfast  and  a  good  cigar, 
Gunderson  squared  himself  for  the  story.  He 
shut  his  eyes  for  a  few  minutes,  as  if  to  re- 
call something,  and  then,  speaking  as  if  to 
himself,  he  said: 

"Well,  sir,  there  wasn't  a  simmer  any- 
where, dampers  all  shut ;  you  wouldn't'a  sus- 
pected they  was  up  to  the  popping  point,  but 
the  minute  they  got  their  orders,  and  the 
con.  put  up  his  hand,  so,  up  went — " 

"Say,"  I  interrupted,  "I  thought  I  was  to 
have  the  story.  I  believe  you  told  me  about 
the  wedding,  last  night.  The  young  couple 
started  out  well." 

"Oh,  yes,  old  man,  I  forgot,  the  story; 
well,  get  on  the  next  pit  here,"  motioning 
to  a  seat  next  to  him,  "and  I'll  give  you  the 


SOME  FREAKS  OF  FATE  ^7 

history  of  an  old,  hook-motion,  name  of  Os- 
car Gunderson,  and  a  trim,  Class  "G"  made 
of  solid  silver,  from  pilot  to  draft-gear. 

"You  think  I'm  a  Swede;  well,  I  ain't,  I 
don't  know  what  I  am,  but  I  guess  I  come 
nearer  to  being  a  Chinaman  than  anything 
else.  My  father  was  a  sea-captain,  and  my 
mother  found  me  on  the  China  sea — but  they 
were  both  Swedes  just  the  same.  I  had  two 
sisters  older  than  myself,  and  in  order  to  bet- 
ter our  chances,  father  moved  to  New 
York  when  I  was  less  than  five  years  old. 

"He  soon  secured  work  as  captain  on  a 
steamer  in  the  Cuban  trade,  and  died  at  sea, 
when  I  was  ten. 

"I  had  a  bent  for  machinery,  and  tried  the 
old  machine-shops  of  the  Central  road,  but 
soon  found  myself  firing. 

"I  went  to  California,  shortly  after  the 
war,  on  account  of  a  woman — mostly  my 
fault. 

"Well,  after  running  around  there  for 
some  years,  I  struck  a  job  on  the  Virginia  & 
Truckee,  in  '73. 

"Virginia  City  and  Carson  and  all  the  Ne- 


1 68    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

vada  towns  were  doing  a  fall-rush  business, 
turning  every  wheel  they  had,  with  three 
crews  to  a  mill.  Why,  if  you'd  go  down 
street  in  any  one  of  them  towns  at  night,  and 
see  the  crowds  around  the  gamblers  and 
molls,  you'd  think  hell  was  a-coming  forty- 
mile  an  hour,  and  that  it  wan't  more  than  a 
car-length  away. 

"Well,  one  morning,  I  came  into  Virginia 
about  breakfast  time,  and  with  the  rest  of  the 
crew,  went  up  to  the  old  California  Chop- 
house  for  breakfast.  This  same  chop-house 
was  a  building  about  good-enough  for  a  sta- 
ble, these  days;  but  it  had  a  reputation  then 
for  steaks.  All  the  gamblers  ate  there;  and 
it's  a  safe  rule  to  eat  where  the  gamblers  do, 
in  a  frontier  town,  if  you  want  the  best  there 
is,  regardless  of  price. 

"It  was  early  for  the  regular  trade,  and 
we  had  the  dining-room  mostly  to  ourselves, 
for  a  few  minutes,  then  there  were  four 
women  folks  came  in  and  sat  down  at  a  ta- 
ble bearing  a  card :  'Reserved  for  Ladies.' 

"Three  of  them  were  dressed  loud,  had 
signs  out  whereby  any  one  could  tell  that 


SOME  FREAKS  OF  FATE  169 

they  wouldn't  be  received  into  no  Four  Hun- 
dred; but  one  of  them  was  a  nice-looking, 
modestly-dressed  woman,  had  on  half- 
mourning,  if  I  remember.  She  had  one  of 
them  sweet,  strong  faces,  John,  like  the  nun 
when  I  had  my  arm  broke  and  was  scalded, 
— her  sweet  mouth  kept  mumblin'  prayers, 
but  her  fingers  held  an  artery  shut  that  was 
trying  its  damndest  to  pump  Gun  Gunder- 
son's  old  heart  dry — strong  character,  you 
bet. 

"Well,  that  woman  sat  facing  our  table 
and  kept  looking  at  me;  I  couldn't  see  her 
without  turning,  but  I  knew  she  was  looking. 
John,  did  you  ever  notice  that  you  could  feel 
the  presence  of  some  people ;  you  knew  they 
were  near  you  without  seeing  them?  Well, 
when  that  happens,  don't  forget  to  give  that 
fellow  due  credit ;  for  whoever  it  is  he  or  she 
has  the  strongest  mind — the  dominant  one. 

"I  had  to  look  around  at  that  woman.  I 
shall  never  forget  how  she  looked ;  her  hand 
was  on  the  side  of  her  face ;  her  great,  brown, 
tender  eyes  were  staring  right  at  me — she 
was  reading  my  very  soul.  I  let  her  read. 


170        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

"I  had  been  jacking  up  a  gilly  of  a  gafter 
who  had  referred  to  his  mother  as  "the  old 
woman,"  and  I  didn't  let  the  four  females 
disturb  me.  I  meant  to  hold  up  a  looking 
glass  for  that  young  whelp  to  look  into.  I 
hate  a  man  that  don't  love  his  mother. 

"Why,"  says  I,  "you  miserable  example 
of  Divine  carelessness,  do  you  know  what 
that  'old  woman'  mother  has  done  for  you, 
you  drivelin'  idiot,  a-thankin'  God  that 
you're  alive  and  forgetting  the  very  mother 
that  bore  you ;  if  you  could  see  the  tears  that 
she  has  shed,  if  you  could  count  the  sleep- 
less nights  that  she  has  put  in,  the  heart- 
aches, the  pain,  the  privation  that  she  has 
humbly,  silently,  even  thankfully  borne  that 
you  might  simply  live,  you'd  squander  your 
last  cent  and  your  last  breath  to  make  her 
life  a  joy,  from  this  day  until  her  light  goes 
out.  A  man  that  don't  respect  his  mother  is 
lost  to  all  decency ;  a  man  who  will  hear  her 
name  belittled  is  a  Judas,  and  a  man  who 
will  call  his  mother  'old  woman'  is  a  no- 
good,  low-down,  misbehaven  whelp.  Why, 
damn  it,  I'd  fight  a  buzz-saw,  if  it  called  my 


SOME  FREAKS  OF  FATE  ljl 

mother  'old  woman' — and  she's  been  dead  a 
long  time ;  gone  to  that  special,  exalted,  gilt- 
edged  and  glorious  heaven  for  mothers.  No 
one  but  mothers  have  a  right  to  expect  to  go 
to  a  heaven,  and  the  only  question  that'll  be 
asked  is,  'Have  you  been  a  mother?' 

"Well,  sir,  I  had  forgot  about  the  women, 
but  they  clapped  their  hands  and  I  looked 
around,  and  there  were  tears  in  the  eyes  of 
that  one  woman. 

"She  got  up ;  came  to  our  table  and  laid  a 
card  by  my  plate,  and  said,  'I  beg  your  par- 
don; but  won't  you  call  on  me?  Please  do/ 

"I  was  completely  knocked  out,  but  told 
her  I  would,  and  she  went  out  alone;  the 
others  finished  their  breakfast. 

"She  had  no  sooner  gone  than  Cy  Nash, 
my  conductor,  commenced  to  giggle — 'Made 
a  mash  on  the  flyest  woman  in  town/  he  tit- 
tered ;  'ain't  a  blood  in  town  but  what  would 
give  his  head  for  your  boots,  old  man ;  that's 
Mabel  Verne — owns  the  Odeon  dance  hall, 
and  the  Tontine,  in  Carson/ 

"I  glanced  at  the  card,  and  it  did  read. 
'Mabel  Verne,  21  Flood  avenue/ 


172        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

"Well,  Flood  avenue  is  no  slouch  of  a 
street,  the  best  folks  live  there,"  I  answered. 

"  'Yes,  that's  her  private  residence,  and  if 
you  go  there  and  are  let  in,  you'd  be  the  first 
man  ever  seen  around  there.  She's  a  curious 
critter,  never  rides  or  drives,  or  shows  her- 
self off  at  all ;  but  you  bet  she  sees  that  the 
rest  of  the  stock  show  off.  She's  in  it  for 
money,  I  tell  you.' 

"I  don't  know  why,  but  it  made  me  kind 
of  heart-sick  to  think  of  the  hell  that  woman 
must  be  in,  for  I  knew  by  her  looks  that  she 
had  a  heart  and  a  brain,  and  that  neither  of 
them  was  in  the  Odeon  or  the  Tontine  dance- 
houses. 

"I  thought  the  matter  over, — and  didn't  go 
to  see  her.  The  next  trip,  she  sent  a  carriage 
for  me. 

"She  met  me  at  the  door,  and  took  my 
hat,  and  as  I  dropped  into  an  easy  chair,  I 
opened  the  ball  to  the  effect  that  'this  here 
was  a  strange  proceeding  for  a  lady.' 

:  'Yes,'  said  she,  sitting  down  square  in 
front  of  me;  'it  is;  I  felt  as  if  I  had  found 
a  true  man,  when  I  first  saw  you,  and  I  have 


SOME  FREAKS  OF  FATE 

asked  you  here  to  tell  you  a  story,  my  story, 
and  ask  your  help  and  advice.  I  am  so  earn- 
est, so  anxious  to  do  thoroughly  what  I  have 
undertaken,  that  I  fear  to  overdo  it;  I  need 
counsel,  restraint;  I  can  trust  you.  Won't 
you  help  me?" 

"  'If  I  can ;  what  is  it  that  you  want  me 
to  do,  madam  ?' 

"  'First  of  all,  keep  a  secret,  and  next,  pro- 
tect or  help  protect,  an  innocent  child.' 

"  'Suppose  I  help  the  child,  and  you  don't 
tell  me  the  secret  ?' 

"  'No,  it  concerns  the  child,  sir ;  she  is  my 
child ;  I  want  her  to  grow  up  without  know- 
ing what  her  mother  has  done,  or  how  she 
has  lived  and  suffered ;  you  wouldn't  tell  her 
that,  would  you?' 

"  'No ;  certainly  not !' 

"  'Nor  anyone  else?' 

"  'No.' 

;  'You  would  judge  her  alone,  forgetting 
her  mother?' 

"  'Yes.' 

"  Then  I  will  tell  you  the  story.' 

"She  got  up  and  changed  the  window 


174   STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

blinds,  so  that  the  light  shone  on  my  face ;  I 
guess  she  wanted  to  study  the  effect  of  her 
words. 

'  'I  was  born  at  Sacramento,'  she  began; 
'my  father  was  a  well-to-do  mechanic,  and  I 
his  only  child ;  I  grew  up  pretty  fair-looking, 
and  my  parents  spent  about  all  they  could 
make  to  complete  my  education,  especially  in 
music,  of  which  I  was  fond.  When  I  was 
eighteen  years  old,  I  fell  in  love  with  a  young 
man,  the  son  of  one  of  the  rich  merchants 
of  San  Francisco,  where  we  had  removed. 
Like  many  another  foolish  girl,  I  trusted  too 
implicitly,  and  believed  too  easily,  and  soon 
found  myself  in  a  humiliating  position,  but 
trusted  to  the  honor  of  my  lover  to  stand  by 
me. 

"  'When  I  explained  matters  to  him  he 
seemed  pleased,  said  he  could  fix  that  easy 
enough;  we  would  get  married  at  once  and 
claim  a  secret  marriage  for  some  months 
past. 

"  'He  arranged  that  I  should  meet  him 
the  next  evening,  and  go  to  an  old  priest  in 
an  obscure  parish,  and  be  married. 


SOME  FREAKS  OF  FATE  175 

"  'I  stood  long  hours  on  a  corner,  half 
dead  with  fear,  that  night,  for  a  lover  that 
never  came.  He's  dead  now,  got  run  over 
in  Oakland  yard,  that  very  night,  as  he  was 
running  away  from  me,  and  as  I  waited  and 
shivered  under  the  stars  and  the  fire  of  my 
own  conscience.' 

"  'Did  he  stand  on  one  track,  to  get  out  of 
the  way  of  another  train,  and  get  struck?'  I 
asked. 

"  'Yes,'  looking  at  me  close. 

"  'Did  he  have  on  a  false  moustache,  and 
a  good  deal  of  money  and  securities  in  a 
satchel,  and  everybody  think  at  first  he  was 
a  burglar?' 

"  'Yes ;  but  how  did  you  know  that  ?' 

"  'Because,  I  killed  him.' 

"'You?' 

"  'Yes ;  I  ran  an  engine  over  him,  couldn't 
make  him  hear  or  see  me.  He  was  the  first 
man  I  ever  killed ;  strange  he  should  be  this 
particular  man.' 

"  'It's  fate,'  said  the  woman,  rocking 
slowly  back  and  forth,  'it's  fate,  but  it  seems 
as  though  I  like  you  better  now  that  you 


1/6        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

were  my  avenger.  That  accident  drove  re- 
venge out  of  my  heart,  caused  me  to  let  him 
be  forgotten,  and  to  live  for  my  child.  I 
have  lived  for  her.  I  live  to-day  for  her  and 
I  will  continue  to  live  for  her.' 

"  'My  disgrace  killed  my  mother  and 
ruined  my  father.  I  swore  I  would  be  an 
honest  woman,  and  I  sought  employment  to 
earn  a  living  for  my  babe  and  myself,  but 
every  avenue  was  closed  to  me.  I  washed 
and  scrubbed  while  I  was  able  to  teach  mu- 
sic splendidly,  but  I  could  get  no  pupils.  I 
made  shirts  for  a  pittance  and  daily  refused, 
to  me,  fortunes  for  dishonor.  I  have  gone 
hungry  and  almost  naked  to  pay  for  my 
baby's  board,  but  I  was  hunted  down  at  last. 

"  'One  day,  after  many  rebuffs  in  seek- 
ing employment,  I  went  to  the  home  of  a 
sister  of  my  child's  father,  and  took  the  baby, 
told  her  who  I  was  and  asked  her  to  help 
me  to  a  chance  to  work.  The  good  woman 
scarcely  looked  at  me  or  the  child;  she  said 
that  had  it  not  been  for  such  as  I,  poor 
Charles  would  have  been  alive;  his  blood 


SOME  FREAKS  OF  FATE  177 

was  on  my  head ;  I  ought  to  ask  God  to  wash 
my  blood-stained  hands. 

"  'I  went  away  from  that  house  with  my 
mind  made  up  what  to  do.  I  would  put  my 
child  in  honest  hands,  and  chain  myself  to 
the  stake  to  suffer  everlasting  damnation  for 
her  sweet  sake. 

"  'She  is  in  the  Mission  San  Antonio  now, 
between  three  and  four,  a  perfect  little 
princess,  she  looks  like  me,  and  grows,  oh, 
so  lovely !  If  you  could  see  her,  you'd  love 
her. 

"  'I  can't  go  to  see  her  any  more ;  she  is 
old  enough  to  remember.  The  last  time  I 
was  there,  she  demanded  a  papa ! 

"  'I  am  making  a  great  deal  of  money. 
Many  of  the  rich  men,  whose  Puritan  wives 
and  daughters  refused  me  honest  work,  are 
squandering  lots  of  their  wealth  in  my 
houses.  I  am  saving  money,  too;  and  pro- 
pose, as  soon  as  I  can  get  a  neat  fortune  to- 
gether to  go  away  to  the  ends  of  the  earth, 
and  have  my  little  girl  with  me.  I  will  raise 
her  to  know  herself  and  to  know  mankind/ 


1 78        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

11  'And  what  do  you  want  me  to  do,  mad- 
am?' 

'  'I  want  you  to  be  that  child's  guardian ; 
the  honest  man  through  whom  she  will 
reach  the  outside  of  San  Antonio  and  the 
world.  Who  will  go  between  her  and  me 
until  a  happier  time.' 

"  'I  am  only  a  rough  engineer ;  the  child 
will  be  raised  to  consider  herself  well  off, 
perhaps  rich.'- 

"  'Adopt  her.  I  will  stay  in  the  back- 
ground ;  make  her  expenditures  and  her  edu- 
cation what  you  like.  I  will  trust  you.' 

"  'I  can't  do  that.' 

"  'You  are  single ;  your  life  is  hard ;  I 
have  money  enough  for  us  all.  Let  us  go 
to  the  Sandwich  islands,  anywhere,  and  com- 
mence life  anew.  The  little  one  will  know 
no  other  father,  and  all  inquiry  will  be 
stopped.' 

"  'I  couldn't  think  of  it,  my  dear  madam ; 
it's  too  easy ;  it's  like  pulling  jerkwater  pas- 
senger— I  like  through  freight.' 

"Well,  John,  to  make  a  long  story  short, 
the  interview  ended  about  here,  and  several 


SOME  FREAKS  OF  FATE  I  79 

more  got  to  about  the  same  place.  There  were 
a  thousand  things  I  could  not  help  but  ad- 
mire in  that  woman,  and  I  liked  her  better 
the  more  I  knew  her.  But  it  wan't  love;  it 
was  a  sort  of  an  admiration  for  her  love  of 
the  child,  and  the  nerve  she  displayed  in  its 
behalf.  But  I  shrank  from  becoming  her 
husband  or  companion,  although  I  think  she 
loved  me,  in  the  end,  better  than  she  ever  did 
anybody. 

"However,  I  finally  agreed  to  look  after 
the  little  one,  in  case  anything  happened  to 
the  mother,  and  commenced  then  to  send  the 
money  for  her  board  and  tuition,  and  the 
mother  dropped  out  of  all  connection  with 
the  child  or  those  having  her  in  charge. 

"The  mother  made  her  pile  and  got  out  of 
the  business,  and  at  my  suggestion  went 
down  near  Los  Angeles  and  bought  a  nice 
country  place,  to  start  respectable  before  she 
took  the  little  one  home.  She  left  money  in 
Carson,  subject  to  my  check,  for  the  little 
girl,  and  things  slid  along  for  a  year  or  so 
all  smooth  enough. 

"I  was  out  on  a  snow-bucking  expedition 


l8o        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

one  time  the  next  winter,  sleeping  in  cars, 
shanties  or  on  the  engine,  and  I  soon  found 
myself  all  bunged  up  with  the  worst  dose  of 
rheumatiz'  you  ever  see.  I  had  to  get  down 
to  a  lower  altitude,  and  made  for  Sacramento 
in  the  spring.  I  paid  the  Mission  a  year  in 
advance,  and  with  less  than  a  hundred  dol- 
lars of  my  own,  struck  out,  hoping  to  dodge 
the  twists  that  were  in  my  bones. 

"A  hundred  blind  gaskets  don't  go  far 
when  you're  sick,  and  the  first  thing  I  knew 
I  was  dead  broke;  couldn't  pay  my  board, 
couldn't  buy  medicine,  couldn't  walk — noth- 
ing but  think  and  suffer.  I  finally  had  to  go 
to  a  hospital.  Not  one  of  the  old  gang  ever 
came  to  see  me.  Old  Gun  was  a  dandy, 
when  he  was  making — and  spending — a  cou- 
ple hundred  a  month;  the  rest  of  the  time 
he  was  supposed  to  be  dead. 

"I  might  have  died  in  the  hospital,  if  fate 
hadn't  decreed  to  send  me  relief.  It  sud- 
denly dawned  upon  me  that  I  was  getting 
far  better  treatment  than  usual,  had  a  special 
nurse,  the  best  of  food,  flowers,  etc.,  all  la- 
beled 'From  the  Boys." 


SOME  FREAKS  OF  FATE  l8l 

"I  found  out,  after  I  was  well  enough  to 
take  a  sun  bath  on  the  porch,  that  a  woman 
had  sent  all  my  luxuries,  and  that  her  purse 
had  been  opened  for  my  relief.  I  knew  who 
it  was  at  once,  and  was  anxious  to  get  well 
and  at  work,  so  as  not  to  live  on  one  who 
was  only  too  glad  to  do  everything  for  me. 

"A  six  months'  wrastle  with  the  twisters 
leaves  a  fellow  stiff- jointed  and  oldish,  and 
lying  in  bed  takes  the  strength  out  of  him. 
I  took  the  notion  to  get  out  and  go  to  work, 
one  day,  and  walked  down  to  the  shops — I 
was  carried  back,  chuck  full  of  'em  again. 

"The  doctor  said  I  must  go  to  Ojo  Cali- 
ente,  away  down  south,  if  I  was  to  get  well. 
John,  if  the  Santa  Fe  road  had  'a  been  for 
sale  for  a  cent  then,  I  couldn't  'a  bought  a 
spike. 

"At  about  the  height  of  my  ill-luck,  I  got 
a  letter  from  Mabel  Verne — she  had  another 
name,  but  that  don't  matter — and  she  asked 
me  again  to  come  to  her;  to  have  a  home, 
and  care  and  devotion.  It  wasn't  a  love-sick 
letter,  but  it  was  one  of  them  strong,  ten- 
der, fetching  letters.  It  was  unselfish,  it 


1 82        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

asked  very  little  of  me,  and  offered  a  good 
deal. 

"I  thought  over  it  all  night,  and  decided 
at  last  to  go.  What  better  was  I  than  this 
woman?  Surely  she  was  better  educated, 
better  bred.  She  had  made  one  mistake,  I 
had  made  many.  She  had  no  friends  on 
earth;  I  didn't  seem  to  have  any,  either.  I 
hadn't  had  a  letter  from  either  of  my  married 
sisters  for  six  or  eight  years,  then.  We 
could  trust  one  another,  and  have  an  object 
in  life  in  the  education  of  the  child.  I'd  be  no 
v/orse  off  than  I  was,  anyway. 

"The  next  morning  I  felt  better.  I  got 
ready  to  leave,  bid  all  my  fellow  flat-wheels 
good-by ;  and  had  a  gig  ordered  to  take  me 
to  the  train — the  doctor  had  given  me  two- 
hundred  dollars  a  short  time  before — 'from  a 
lady  friend.' 

"As  I  sat  waiting  for  the  hack,  they 
brought  me  a  letter  from  home — a  big  one, 
with  a  picture  in  it.  It  was  from  my  young- 
est sister,  and  the  picture  was  of  her  ten-year 
boy,  named  for  me — such  a  happy,  sunny 
little  Swede  face  you  never  see.  'He  always 


SOME  FREAKS  OF  FATE  183 

talks  of  Uncle  Oscar  as  a  great  and  good 
man/  wrote  Carrie,  'and  says  every  day  that 
he's  going  to  do  just  like  you.  He  will  do 
nothing  that  we  tell  him  Uncle  Oscar  would 
not  like,  and  anything  that  he  would.  If 
you  are  as  good  as  he  thinks  you  are,  you 
are  sure  of  heaven.' 

"And  I  was  even  then  going  off  to  live 
with  a  woman  who  made  a  fortune  out  of 
Virginia  City  dance-houses.  I  had  a  sort  of 
a  remorseful  chill,  and  before  I  really  knew 
just  where  I  was,  I  had  got  to  Arizona,  and 
from  there  to  the  Santa  Fe  where  you  knew 
me. 

"I  wrote  my  benefactress  an  honest  letter, 
and  told  her  why  I  had  not  come,  and  in  a 
short  time  sent  her  the  money  she  had  put 
up  for  me ;  but  it  was  returned  again,  and  I 
sent  it  to  the  mission  for  my  little  girl. 

"Well,  while  I  was  with  you  there,  I  got 
a  fare-thee-well  letter,  saying  that  when  I 
got  that  Mabel  Verne  would  be  no  more — 
same  as  dead — and  that  she  had  deposited 
forty  thousand  dollars  in  the  Phoenix  Bank 
for  your  little  girl — yours,  mind  ye — and 


184        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

asked  me  to  adopt  her  legally  and  tell  her 
that  her  mother  was  dead. 

"John,  I  ain't  heard  of  that  woman  from 
then  until  now.  I  thought  she  had  got  tired 
of  waiting  on  me  and  got  married,  but  I  be- 
lieve she  is  dead. 

"I  went  to  California  and  adopted  the 
baby — a  daisy  too — and  I've  honestly  tried 
to  be  a  father  to  her. 

"I  got  to  making  money  in  outside  specu- 
lations, and  had  plenty;  so  I  let  her  money 
accumulate  at  the  Phoenix  and  paid  her  way 
myself. 

"About  four  years  ago,  I  left  the  road  for 
good;  bought  me  a  nice  place  just  outside  of 
Oakland,  and  settled  down  to  take  a  little 
comfort. 

"Mabel,  my  daughter  Mabel,  for  she 
called  me  papa,  went  to  Germany,  nearly 
three  years  ago,  in  charge  of  her  music 
teacher,  Sister  Florence,  to  finish  herself  off. 
Ah,  John,  you  ort  to  see  her  claw  ivory !  Be- 
fore she  went,  she  called  me  into  the  mis- 
sion parlor,  one  day,  and  almost  got  me  into 
a  snap;  she  wanted  me  to  tell  her  all  about 


SOME  FREAKS  OF  FATE  185 

her  parents  right  then,  and  asked  me  if  there 
wasn't  some  mystery  about  her  birth,  and  the 
way  she  happened  to  be  left  in  the  mission  all 
her  life,  her  mother  disappearing,  and  my 
adoption  of  her." 

"What  did  you  tell  her,  Gun?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  lied  to  her,  of  course,  as  any  hon- 
orable man  would  have  done.  I  told  her  that 
her  father  was  an  engineer  and  a  friend  of 
mine,  and  that  he  was  killed  in  an  accident 
before  she  was  born — that  was  all  plausible 
enough. 

"Then  I  told  her  that  her  mother  was  in 
poor  health,  and  had  died  just  before  I  had 
adopted  her,  and  had  left  a  will,  giving  her 
to  me,  and  besides  had  left  forty  thousand 
dollars  in  the  bank  for  her,  when  she  mar- 
ried or  became  of  age. 

"Well,  John,  cutting  down  short,  she  met 
a  fellow  over  there,  a  New  Yorker,  that  just 
seemed  to  think  she  was  made  a-purpose  for 
him,  and  about  a  year  ago  he  wrote  and 
asked  me  for  my  daughter — just  think  of  it! 
His  petition  was  seconded  by  the  baby  her- 
self, and  recommended  by  Sister  Florence. 


1 86    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

"They  came  home  six  months  ago,  and 
the  baby  got  ready  for  dress-parade;  and  I 
went  down  to  New  York  and  seen  'em  off; 
but  here's  where  old  Fate  gets  in  his  work 
again.  That  rascal  of  an  O.  B.  Sanderson — 
I  didn't  notice  the  name  before — was  my 
own  nephew,  the  very  young  cuss  whose  pic- 
ture kept  me  from  marryin'  the  baby's 
mother!  I  never  tumbled  till  I  ran  across 
his  mother,  she  was  my  sister  Carrie. 

"John,  I  don't  care  a  continental  cuss  how 
good  he  was,  the  baby  was  good  enough  for 
him — too  good — I  just  said  nothing — and 
watched  the  signals.  You  ort  to  a  seen  me 
a-givin'  the  bride  away !  Then,  when  it  was 
all  over,  and  I  was  childless,  I  give  my  little 
girl  a  check  for  forty-seven  thousand  and  a 
fraction ;  kissed  her,  and  lit  out  for  home — 
and  here  I  am. 

"But  I  ain't  satisfied  now,  and  just  as 
quick  as  I  get  back,  I'm  a-going  running 
again ;  then,  when  I've  got  so  old  I  can't  see 
more'n  a  car  length,  I'm  going  to  ask  for  a 
steam-pump  to  run.  I'm  a-going  to  die  rail- 
roading." 


SOME  FREAKS  OF  FATE  187 

"Have  you  ever  made  any  inquiries  about 
the  mother,  Gun?"  I  asked. 

"No ;  not  much ;  it's  so  long  now,  it  ain't 
no  use ;  I  guess  that  her  light's  gone  out." 

"What  would  you  do,  if  she  was  to  turn 
up?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know ;  I  guess  I'd  keep  still 
and  see  what  she  done." 

"Suppose,  Gun,  that  she  showed  up  now; 
loved  you  more  than  ever  for  what  you  have 
done,  and  renewed  her  old  proposal?  You 
know  it's  leap  year." 

"Well,  old  man,  if  an  angel  flew  down  out 
of  the  sky  and  give  me  a  second-hand  pair 
of  wings  just  rebuilt,  and  ordered  me  to  put 
'em  on  and  follow  her,  I  guess  I  wouldn't 
refuse  to  go  out.  Time  was,  though,  when 
I'd  a-held  out  for  new,  gold-mounted  ones, 
or  nothing;  but  that  won't  come,  John;  but 
you  just  ort  to  a  been  to  the  consolidation; 
it  was  just  simply — well,  pulling  the  presi- 
dent's special  would  be  just  like  hauling  a 
gravel-train  to  it!" 

The  train  stopped  suddenly  here,  and 
"Gun"  said  he  was  going  ahead  to  get  ac- 


1 88    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

quainted  with  the  water-boiler,  and  I  took 
out  my  note-book  and  jotted  down  a  few 
points. 

"After  the  train  got  into  motion  again,  I 
was  reading  over  my  notes,  when,  without 
looking,  I  thought  Gunderson  had  come 
back,  and  I  moved  along  in  the  seat  to  give 
him  room,  but  a  black  dress  sat  down  beside 
me. 

We  had  been  sitting  with  our  backs  to  a 
curtain  between  the  first  berth  and  a  state- 
room. The  lady  came  from  the  state-room. 

"Pardon  me,  sir,"  she  said,  "I  want  to  fin- 
ish that  story.  I  have  heard  it  all ;  I  am  Sis- 
ter Florence,  music  teacher  to  Mr.  Gunder- 
son's  daughter ;  he  does  not  know  that  I  am 
on  this  train. 

"Mr.  Gunderson  did  not  tell  you  that  the 
Phoenix  bank  failed  some  months  ago,  and 
that  the  fortune  of  his  adopted  child  was 
lost.  He  never  told  her  and  she  does  not 
know  it  to-day — " 

"He  said  he  paid  her  the  full  amount — " 
I  interrupted. 

"Very  true.    He  did ;  but  he  paid  it  out  of 


SOME  FREAKS  OF  FATE  189 

his  own  pocket.  Sold  his  farm;  put  up  all 
his  securities,  and  borrowed  seven  hundred 
dollars  to  make  the  sum  complete.  That  is 
the  reason  he  is  going  to  run  an  engine 
again.  He  does  not  know  that  I  am  aware 
of  this,  so  don't  mention  it  to  him." 

"Gun  is  a  man,"  said  I;  "a  great,  big- 
hearted,  true  man." 

"He  is  a  nobleman !"  said  the  nun,  arising 
and  going  back  into  the  state-room. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Gunderson  came 
back,  took  a  seat  beside  me  and  commenced 
to  talk. 

"Say,  John,  that's  the  hardest-riding  old 
pelter  I  ever  see,  about  three  inches  of  slack 
between  engine  and  tank,  pounding  like  a 
stamp-mill  and — "  looking  over  his  shoulder 
and  then  at  me,  "John,  I  could  a  swore  there 
was  some  one  standing  right  there,  I  felt 
'em. 

"It  seems  to  me  they  ort  to  keep  up  their 
engines  here  in  pretty  good  shape.  They've 
got  bad  water,  and  so  much  boiler  work  that 
they  have  to  have  new  flues  before  the  ma- 
chinery gets  worn  much.  But,  Lord,  they 


19°        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

don't  seem — "  he  looked  over  his  shoulder 
again,  quickly,  then  settled  in  his  seat  to  re- 
sume, when  a  pair  of  hands  covered  Gun's 
eyes — the  nun's  hands. 

"Guess  who  it  is,  Gun,"  said  I;  and  no- 
ticed that  he  was  very  pale. 

"It's  Mabel,"  said  he,  putting  up  his  hands 
and  taking  both  of  hers;  "no  one  but  her 
ever  made  me  feel  like  that." 


Mormon  Joe,  the   Robber 


IQI 


MORMON  JOE,  THE  ROBBER 

FM  on  intimate  terms  with  one  of  the 
biggest  robbers  in  this  country.  He's  an 
expert  at  the  business,  but  has  now  retired 
from  active  work.  The  fact  of  the  matter  is, 
Joe  didn't  know  he  was  robbing,  at  the  time 
he  did  it,  but  he  got  there,  just  the  same,  and 
come  mighty  nigh  doing  time  in  the  peni- 
tentiary for  it,  too. 

Maybe  I'd  better  commence  at  the  begin- 
ning and  tell  you  that  I  first  knew  Joe  Hogg 
in  '79,  out  at  the  front,  on  the  Santa  Fe. 
Joe  hailed  from  Salt  Lake  City,  and  had  run 
on  the  Utah  Central,  which  gave  him  the 
nickname  of  "Mormon  Joe,"  a  name  he 
never  resented  being  called,  and  to  which 
he  always  answered.  I  never  did  really 
know  whether  he  was  a  Mormon  or  not,  and 
never  cared;  he  was  a  good  engineer,  that's 
about  all  I  cared  for.  Joe  took  good  care  of 
193 


194        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

his  engine,  wore  a  clean  shirt  and  behaved 
himself — which  was  doing  more  than  the 
average  engineer  at  the  front  did. 

I  remember,  one  night,  Jack  McCabe — 
"Whisky  Jack,"  we  used  to  call  him — made 
some  mean  remark  about  the  Mormons  in 
general  and  Joe  in  particular,  and  Joe  re- 
plied :  "I  don't  propose  to  defend  the  Mor- 
mon faith ;  it's  as  good  as  any,  to  my  mind. 
I  don't  propose  to  judge  or  misjudge  any 
man  by  his  belief  or  absence  of  belief.  All 
that  I  have  got  to  say  is,  that  the  Mormon 
religion  is  a  practical  religion.  They  don't 
give  starving  women  a  tract,  or  tramps  jobs 
on  the  stone-pile.  The  women  get  bread, 
and  the  tramps  work  for  pay.  Their  faith 
is  based  on  the  Christian  Bible,  with  a  book 
added — guess  they  have  as  big  a  right  to  add 
or  take  away  as  some  of  the  old  kings  had — 
bigamy  is  upheld  by  the  Bible,  but  has  been 
dead  in  Utah,  for  some  years.  It  can't  live 
for  the  young  people  are  against  it.  In 
Utah  the  woman  has  all  the  rights  a  man  has, 
votes,  and  is  a  person.  (Since  cut  out  of 
new  constitution.)  Before  the  Gentiles  came 


MORMON  JOE,  THE  ROBBER         195 

to  Salt  Lake,  the  Mormons  had  but  one  po- 
liceman, no  jail,  few  saloons,  no  houses  of 
prostitution — now  the  Gentile  Christian  has 
sway,  and  the  town  is  full  of  them.  I  guess 
you  could  argue  on  the  quality  and  quantity 
of  rot-gut  whisky  a  good  engineer  ought  to 
drink,  better  than  on  theology,  anyhow." 

I  never  heard  any  of  the  gang  twit  Joe 
about  the  Mormons  again. 

I  didn't  take  an  awful  sight  of  notice  about 
Joe  until  I  came  in,  one  night,  and  the  boys 
told  me  that  Joe  was  arrested  as  an  accom- 
plice in  the  robbery  of  the  Black  Prince 
mine,  in  Constitution  gulch. 

This  Black  Prince  was  a  gold  placer 
owned  by  two  middle-aged  Englishmen. 
They  had  a  small  stamp-mill,  run  by  mule 
power;  and  a  large  number  of  sluice-boxes. 
They  always  worked  alone,  and  said  they 
were  developing  the  mine.  No  one  had  any 
idea  that  they  were  taking  out  much  dust, 
until  the  mill  and  sluice-boxes  were  burned 
one  night,  and  the  story  came  out  that  they 
had  been  robbed  of  more  than  thirty  thou- 
sand dollars. 


196        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

Each  partner  accused  the  other  of  the 
theft.  Both  were  arrested,  and  detectives 
commenced  to  follow  every  clue. 

Joe's  arrest  fell  like  a  thunder-clap  among 
us.  The  Brotherhood  men  took  it  up  right 
away,  and  I  went  to  see  Joe,  that  very  night. 
It  was  said  that  Joe  had  visited  the  Black 
Prince,  the  day  before,  and  had  been  seen 
carrying  away  a  large  package,  the  night  be- 
fore the  robbery., 

Joe  absolutely  refused  to  say  a  word  for 
or  against  himself. 

"The  detectives  got  this  scheme  up  and 
know  what  they  are  doing,"  said  he;  "I 
don't.  When  they  get  all  through,  you'll 
know  how  it  '11  come  out." 

To  all  questions  as  to  his  guilt  or  inno- 
cence, to  every  query  about  the  crime  or  his 
arrest,  he  replied  alike,  to  friend  or  foe : 

"Ask  the  sheriff;  he's  doing  this." 

He  was  in  jail  a  long  time,  but  nothing 
was  proven  against  him  and  he  was  finally 
released. 

Neither  of  the  Englishmen  could  fasten 
the  crime  on  his  partner,  and  they  sold  out 


MORMON  JOE,  THE  ROBBER         197 

and  drifted  away,  one  going  back  to  Eng- 
land and  the  other  to  Mexico. 

Joe  ran  awhile  on  the  road  again  and  then 
took  a  job  as  chief -engineer  of  a  big  stamp- 
mill  in  Arizona,  and  going  there  he  was  lost 
to  myself  and  the  men  on  the  road,  and 
finally  the  Black  Prince  robbery  passed  into 
history,  and  nothing  remained  but  the  tra- 
dition, a  sort  of  a  myth  of  the  mountains, 
like  Captain  Kidd's  treasures,  the  amount 
only  being  increased  by  time.  I  believe  that 
the  last  time  I  heard  the  story,  it  was  calmly 
stated  that  thirty  million  dollars  was  taken. 

When  I  was  out  West,  last  time,  I  got  off 
the  train  at  Santa  Fe,  and  when  gunning 
through  the  baggage  for  my  kiester,  I  saw  a 
trunk,  bearing  on  its  end  this  legend : 

"MRS.  JOS.  HOGG." 

While  I  was  "gopping"  at  it,  as  they  say 
down  East,  and  wondering  if  it  could  be  my 
Joe  Hogg,  a  very  nice-looking  lady  came  in, 
leading  a  little  girl,  glanced  along  the  lines 


198        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

of  trunks,  put  her  hand  on  the  one  I  was 
looking  at,  and  said : 

"That's  the  one;  yes;  the  little  one.  I 
want  it  checked  to  New  York." 

Just  then,  a  little  fellow  with  whiskers  on 
his  chin  and  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  came  in  and 
took  charge  of  the  trunk,  the  woman  and  the 
child,  and  with  the  little  one's  arms  around 
his  neck,  bid  them  good-by,  and  got  them 
into  their  seats  in  the  sleeper. 

I  watched  this  individual  with  a  great  deal 
of  interest;  he  looked  like  my  old  friend, 
"Mormon  Joe,"  only  for  the  whiskers  and 
the  stockman  clothes. 

Finally  he  jumped  off  the  moving  train, 
waved  his  hand  and  stood  watching  it  out 
of  sight,  to  catch  the  last  glimpse  of  (to  him) 
precious  burden-bearer;  he  raised  his  hand 
to  shade  his  eyes,  and  as  he  did  so,  I  saw  that 
it  was  minus  one  thumb,  and  I  remembered 
that  "Mormon  Joe"  left  one  of  his  under  an 
engine  up  in  Colorado — I  was  sure  of  him. 

There  was  a  tear  in  his  eye,  as  he  turned 
to  go  away,  so  I  stepped  up  to  him  and 
asked : 


MORMON  JOE,  THE  ROBBER         199 

"Any  new  wives  wanted  down  your  way, 
Elder?" 

He  glanced  up,  half  angry,  looked  me 
straight  in  the  eye,  and  a  smile  started  at  the 
southeast  corner  of  his  phiz  and  ran  around 
to  his  port  ear. 

"Well,  John,  old  man,  I  don't  mind  being 
sealed  to  one  about  your  size,  right  now. 
I've  just  sent  away  the  best  one  in  the  wide 
world.  Old  man,  you're  looking  plump;  by 
the  Holy  Joe  Smith,  a  sight  of  you  is  good 
for  sore  eyes !" 

Well,  we  started,  and — but  there  ain't  no 
use  in  telling  you  all  about  it — I  went  home 
with  Joe,  went  up  a  creek  with  a  jaw-break- 
ing Spanish  name,  for  miles,  to  a  very  good 
cattle  ranch,  that  was  the  property  of  "Mor- 
mon Joe." 

Joe  only  quit  running  some  three  or  four 
years  ago,  and  the  ranch  and  its  neat  little 
home  represented  the  savings  of  Joe  Hogg's 
life. 

His  wife  and  only  child  had  just  started 
for  a  visit  to  England  where  she  was  born. 

The  next  day  we  rode  the  range  to  see 


200   STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

Joe's  cattle,  and  the  next  we  started  out  for 
a  little  hunt.  It  was  sitting  by  a  jolly  camp- 
fire,  back  in  the  hills  of  New  Mexico,  that 
"Mormon  Joe"  told  me  the  true  story  of  the 
robbery  of  the  Black  Prince  mine  and  the 
romance  of  his  life. 

Filling  his  cob  pipe  with  cut-plug,  Joe  sat 
looking  away  over  space  toward  our  hobbled 
horses  and  then  said : 

"Old  man,  I  reckon  you  remember  all 
about  the  Black  Prince  robbery.  I  don't  for- 
get you  were  the  first  man  that  came  to  the 
cooler  to  see  me  while  I  was  doing  time  as  a 
suspect.  Well,  coming  right  down  to  the 
point,  /  had  the  dust  all  the  time!  and  the 
working  out  of  the  mystery  would  be  rather 
interesting  reading  if  it  was  written  up,  and, 
as  you  are  such  an  accomplished  liar,  I 
wouldn't  be  surprised  if  you  made  it  the 
base-line  of  one  of  them  yarns  of  yourn — 
only,  mind  you,  don't  go  too  far  with  it,  for 
it's  as  curious  as  a  lie  itself.  I  would  not  try 
to  improve  on  it,  if  I  was  you.  I'll  tell  it  to 
you  as  it  was. 

"About  four  days  before  the  robbery,  I 


MORMON  JOE,  THE  ROBBER        2OI 

was  introduced  to  Rachel  Rokesby,  daughter 
of  one  of  the  partners  in  the  Black  Prince. 
I  met  her,  in  what  seemed  to  be  a  casual  way, 
at  Mother  Cameron's  hash-foundry,  but  I 
found  out,  a  long  time  afterward,  that  she 
had  worked  for  two  weeks  to  bring  about  the 
introduction. 

"I  don't  know  as  you  remember  seeing 
her,  but  she  was  a  quiet,  retiring,  well-edu- 
cated, rosy-cheeked  English  girl — impressed 
you  right  away  as  being  the  pure,  unrefined 
article,  about  twenty-two  karat.  She 
"chinned"  me  about  an  hour,  that  evening, 
and  just  cut  a  cameo  of  her  pretty  face  right 
on  my  old  heart. 

"Well,  course  I  saw  her  home,  and  tried 
my  best  to  be  interesting,  but  if  a  fellow  ever 
in  his  natural  life  becomes  a  double-barreled 
jackass,  it's  just  immediately  after  he  falls 
in  love.  Why,  he  ain't  as  interesting  as  the 
unlettered  side  of  an  ore-sack. 

"But  we  got  on  amazing  well;  the  girl 
did  most  of  the  talking  and  along  toward 
the  last,  mentioned  that  she  was  in  great 
trouble — of  course  I  wa'n't  interested  in  that 


2O2         STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

at  all.  I  liked  to  have  broken  my  neck  in  get- 
ting her  to  tell  me  at  once  if  I  couldn't  do 
something  to  help  her,  say,  for  instance, 
move  Raton  mountain  up  agin  Pike's  Peak. 

"I  went  home  that  night,  promising  to 
call  on  her  the  next  trip,  not  to  let  any  one 
know  I  was  coming,  not  to  tell  anybody  I 
had  been  there,  not  for  worlds  to  repeat  or 
intimate  what  she  told  me,  and  she  would 
tell  me  her  trouble  from  start  to  finish,  and 
then  I  could  help  her,  if  I  wanted  to.  Well, 
I  wanted  to,  bad. 

"I  went  up  to  the  Rokesby's  cabin,  next 
trip  in;  it  was  dark,  and  as  I  went  up  the 
front  walk,  I  heard  the  old  gentleman  going 
out  the  back,  bound  for  the  village  'diggin's/ 
I  had  it  all  to  myself — the  secret,  I  mean. 

"When  I  went  in,  I  got  about  a  forty-sec- 
ond squeeze  of  a  neat  little  hand,  and  things 
did  look  so  nice  and  clean  and  homelike  that 
I  had  it  on  the  end  of  my  tongue  to  ask  right 
then  to  camp  in  the  place. 

"After  a  few  commonplaces,  she  turned 
around  and  asked  me  if  I  still  wanted  to  help 
her  and  would  keep  the  secret,  if  I  concluded 


MORMON  JOE,  THE  ROBBER         203 

in  the  end  to  keep  out  of  her  troubles.  You 
bet  your  life,  old  man,  she  didn't  have  to 
wait  long  for  assurance — why  I  wouldn't'a 
waited  a  minute  to  have  contracted  to  turn 
the  Mississippi  into  the  Mammoth  Cave,  if 
she  had  asked  it. 

"  'Well,"  says  she,  finally,  "it  is  not  gener- 
ally known,  in  fact,  isn't  known  at  all,  that 
the  Black  Prince  is  a  paying  placer,  and  that 
papa  and  Mr.  Sanson  have  been  taking  out 
lots  of  gold  for  some  time.  They  have  over 
fifty  pounds  of  gold-dust  and  nuggets  hid- 
den under  the  floor  of  the  old  mill.' 

"  'Well,'  says  I,  'that  hadn't  ought  to 
worry  you  so.' 

"  'But  that  isn't  all  the  story,'  she  contin- 
ued ;  'we  have  discovered  a  plot  on  the  part 
of  Mr.  Sanson  to  rob  papa  of  the  gold  and 
burn  the  mill  and  sluice-boxes,  to  hide  the 
crime.  You  will  find  that  every  tough  in 
town  is  his  friend,  because  he  buys  whisky 
for  them,  and  they  all  dislike  papa.  If  he 
carried  out  his  plan,  we  would  have  no  re- 
dress whatever;  all  the  justices  in  town  can 
be  bribed.  The  plan  is  to  take  the  gold, 


204    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

burn  the  mill,  and  then  accuse  papa  of  the 
crime.  Now,  can't  you  help  me  to  fool  that 
old  villain  of  a  Sanson,  and  put  papa's  half 
of  the  money  in  a  safe  place  ?' 

"I  thought  quite  a  while  before  I  an- 
swered; it  seemed  strange  to  me  that  the 
case  should  be  as  she  stated,  and  I  half  feared 
I  might  be  made  a  cat's-paw  and  get  into 
trouble,  but  the  girl  looked  at  me  so  trust- 
ingly with  her  blue  eyes  and  added : 

"  'I  am  afraid  that  I  am  the  cause  of  all 
the  trouble,  too.  Papa  and  Sanson  got  along 
well  until  I  refused  to  marry  him ;  after  that, 
the  row  began — I  hate  him.  He  said  I 
would  have  to  marry  him  before  he  was  done 
with  me — but  I  won't!' 

"  'You  bet  you  won't,  darling,'  says  I, 
before  I  thought.  'Pardon  me,  Miss 
Rokesby,  but  if  there  is  any  marrying  done 
around  here,  I  want  a  hand  in  the  game  my- 
self.' 

"She  blushed  deeply,  looked  at  the  toe  of 
her  shoe  a  minute,  and  said : 

"  'I'm  only  eighteen,  and  am  too  young 
to  think  of  marrying.  Suppose  we  don't  talk 


MORMON  JOE,  THE  ROBBER        205 

of  that  until  we  get  out  of  the  present  dif- 
ficulties.' 

"  'Sensible  idea,'  says  I.  'But  when  we 
are  out,  suppose  you  and  I  have  a  talk  on 
that  subject.' 

"She  looked  at  the  toe  of  her  shoe  for  a 
minute  again,  turned  red  and  white  around 
the  gills,  looked  up  at  me,  shyly  at  first,  then 
fully  and  fairly,  stretched  out  her  hand  and 
said: 

"  'Yes ;  if  you  care  to.' 

"Course,  I  didn't  care,  or  nothing — no 
more  than  a  man  cares  for  his  head. 

"I  guess  that  was  about  a  half  engage- 
ment, anyhow,  it's  the  only  one  we  ever  had. 
She  said  it  would  be  ruinous  to  our  plans  if 
I  was  seen  with  her  then  or  afterward;  and 
agreed  to  leave  a  note  at  the  house  for  me 
by  next  trip,  telling  me  her  plan — which  she 
should  talk  over  with  her  father. 

"A  couple  of  days  later  I  got  in  from  a 
round  trip  and  made  a  dive  for  the  board- 
ing-house. 

"  'Any  mail  for  me,  mother  ?'  I  asked  old 
Mrs.  Cameron. 


206    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

'  'No,  young  man;  I'm  sorry  to  say  there 
ain't' 

'  'I  was  anxious  to  hear  from  home.' 
'  'Too  bad ;  but  maybe  it  '11  come  to-mor- 
row.' 

"I  was  up  to  fever  heat,  but  could  do  noth- 
ing but  wait.  I  went  to  bed  late,  and,  raising 
up  my  pillow  to  put  my  watch  under  it,  I 
found  a  note;  it  read: 

"  'Midnight,  July  17. 
"  'DEAR  JOE  : 

"  'Just  thought  of  that  rule  for  changing 
counter-balance  you  wanted.  There  has  al- 
ways been  a  miscalculation  about  the  weight 
of  counter-balance;  they  are  universally  too 
heavy.  The  weights  are  in  pieces ;  take  out 
two  pieces;  this  treatment  would  even  im- 
prove a  mule  sweep.  When  once  out,  pieces 
should  be  changed  or  placed  where  careless 
or  malicious  persons  cannot  get  hold  of  them 
and  replace  them.  All  is  well ;  hope  you  are 
the  same ;  will  see  you  some  time  soon. 

"  'JACK/ 

"Here  was  apparently  a  fool  letter  from 
one  young  railroader  to  another,  but  I  knew 


MORMON  JOE,  THE  ROBBER 

well  enough  that  it  was  from  Rachel  and 
meant  something. 

"I  noticed  that  it  was  dated  the  next 
night;  then  I  commenced  to  see,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  my  instructions  were  plain.  The  old 
five-stamp  mill  was  driven  by  a  mule,  who 
wandered  aimlessly  around  a  never-ending 
circle  at  the  end  of  a  long,  wooden  sweep; 
this  pole  extended  past  the  post  of  the  mill 
a  few  feet,  and  had  on  the  short  end  a  box  of 
stones  as  a  counter-weight.  I  would  find 
two  packages  of  gold  there  at  midnight  of 
July  17. 

"I  was  running  one  of  those  old  Pitts- 
burgh hogs  then,  and  she  had  to  have  her 
throttle  ground  the  next  day,  but  it  was  more 
than  likely  that  she  would  be  ready  to  go  out 
at  8 130  on  her  turn ;  but  I  arranged  to  have 
it  happen  that  the  stand-pipe  yoke  should  be 
broken  in  putting  it  up,  so  that  another  en- 
gine would  have  to  be  fired  up,  and  I  would 
lay  in. 

"I  told  stories  in  the  roundhouse  until 
nearly  ten  o'clock  that  fateful  night,  and  then 
started  for  the  hash-foundry,  dodged  into  a 


208        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

lumber  yard,  got  onto  the  rough  ground 
back  of  town  and  made  a  wide  detour  to- 
ward Constitution  Gulch,  the  Black  Prince 
and  the  mule-sweep.  I  crept  up  to  the  washed 
ground  through  some  brush  and  laid  down 
in  a  path  to  wait  for  midnight.  I  felt  a  full- 
fledged  sneak-thief,  but  I  thought  of  Rachel 
and  didn't  care  if  I  was  one  or  not,  so  long 
as  she  was  satisfied. 

"I  looked  often  at  my  watch  in  the  moon- 
light, and  at  twelve  o'clock  everything  was 
as  still  as  death.  I  could  hear  my  own  heart 
beat  against  my  ribs  as  I  sneaked  up  to  that 
counter-balanced  sweep.  I  got  there  with- 
out accident  or  incident,  found  two  packages 
done  up  in  canvas  with  tarred-string  han- 
dles; they  were  heavy  but  small,  and  in  ten 
minutes  I  had  them  alone  with  me  among 
the  stumps  and  stones  on  the  little  mesa  back 
of  town. 

"I'll  never  forget  how  I  felt  there  in  the 
dark  with  all  that  money  that  wasn't  mine, 
and  if  some  one  had  have  said  'boo'  from  be- 
hind a  stump,  I  should  have  probably 
dropped  the  boodle  and  taken  to  the  brush. 


NORMON  JOE.   THE  ROBBER 


2O9 


"As  I  approached  the  town,  I  realized  that  I 
could  never  get  through  it  to  the  boarding- 
house  or  the  roundhouse  with  those  two  bun- 
dles that  looked  like  country  sausages.  I 
studied  awhile  on  it  and  finally  put  them  un- 
der an  old  scraper  beside  the  road,  and  went 
without  them  to  the  shops.  I  got  from  my 
seat-box  a  clean  pair  of  overalls  and  jacket 
and  came  back  without  being  seen. 

"I  wrapped  one  of  the  packages  up  in  these 
and  boldly  stepped  out  into  the  glare  of  the 
electric  lights — I  remember  I  thought  the 
town  too  darned  enterprising. 

"One  of  the  first  men  I  met  was  the  mar- 
shal, Jack  Kelly.  He  was  reported  to  be  a 
Pinkerton  man,  and  was  mistrusted  by  some 
of  the  men,  but  tried  to  be  friendly  and  'stand 
in'  with  all  of  us.  He  slapped  me  on  the  back 
and  nearly  scared  the  wits  out  of  me.  He 
insisted  on  treating  me,  and  I  went  into  a  sa- 
loon and  'took  something'  with  him,  in  fear 
and  trembling.  The  package  was  heavy,  but 
I  must  carry  it  lightly  under  my  arm,  as  if 
it  were  only  overclothes. 

"I  treated  in  return,  and  had  it  charged, 


210    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

because  I  dare  not  attempt  to  get  my  right 
hand  into  my  pocket.  Jack  was  disposed  to 
talk,  and  I  feared  he  was  just  playing  with 
me  like  a  cat  does  with  a  mouse,  but  I  finally 
got  off  and  deposited  my  precious  burden  in 
my  seat-box,  under  lock  and  key — then  I 
sneaked  back  for  the  second  haul.  I  met 
Jack  and  a  policeman,  on  my  next  trip,  and 
he  exclaimed : 

"  'Why,  ain't  you  gone  out  yet  ?'  and 
started  off,  telling  the  roundsman  to  keep 
the  bunkos  off  me  up  to  the  shop.  /  thought 
then  I  was  caught,  but  I  was  not,  and  the 
bluecoat  bid  me  a  pleasant  good-night,  at 
the  shop  yard. 

"When  I  got  near  my  engine,  I  was  sur- 
prised to  see  Barney  Murry,  the  night  ma- 
chinist, with  his  torch  up  on  the  cab — he  was 
putting  in  the  newly-ground  throttle. 

"Just  before  I  had  decided  to  emerge  from 
the  shadow  of  the  next  engine,  Barney  com- 
menced to  yell  for  his  helper,  Dick,  to  come 
and  help  him  on  with  the  dome-cover. 

"Dick  came  with  a  sandwich  in  one  hand 
and  a  can  of  coffee  in  the  other.  This  re- 


MORMON  JOE,  THE  ROBBER        211 

minded  Barney  of  his  lunch,  and  setting  his 
torch  down  on  the  top  of  the  cab,  he  scram- 
bled down  on  the  other  side  and  hurried  off 
to  the  sand-dryer,  where  the  gang  used  to 
eat  their  dyspepsia  insurance  and  swap  lies. 

"After  listening  a  moment,  to  be  sure  I 
was  alone,  I  stepped  lightly  to  the  cab,  and 
in  a  minute  the  two  heavy  and  dangerous 
packages  were  side  by  side  again. 

"But  just  here  an  inspiration  struck  me. 
I  opened  the  front  door  of  the  cab,  stepped 
out  on  the  running-board,  and  a  second  later 
was  holding  Barney's  smoking  torch  down 
in  the  dome. 

"The  throttle  occupied  most  of  the  space, 
but  there  was  considerable  room  each  side 
of  it  and  a  good  two  feet  between  the  top  of 
the  boiler  shell  and  the  top  row  of  flues.  I 
took  one  of  the  bags  of  gold,  held  it  down 
at  arm's  length,  swung  it  backward  and  for- 
ward a  time  or  two,  and  let  go,  so  as  to  drop 
it  well  ahead  on  the  flues :  the  second  bag  fol- 
lowed at  once,  and  again  I  held  down  the 
light  to  see  if  the  bags  were  out  of  sight; 
satisfied  on  this  point,  I  got  down,  took  my 


2 1  2        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

clothes  under  my  arm,  and  jumped  off  the 
engine  into  the  arms  of  the  night  foreman." 

"  'What  did  you  call  me  for?  That  en- 
gine is  not  ready  to  go  out  on  the  extra/  I 
demanded,  off-hand. 

"  'I  ain't  called  you;  you're  dreaming.' 

"  'May  be  I  am,'  said  I,  'but  I  would  'a 
swore  some  one  came  and  called  under  my 
window  that  I  got  out  at  2  :io,  on  a  stock- 
train,  extra.' 

"Just  then,  Barney  and  Dick  came  back, 
and  I  soon  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the 
cover  screwed  down  on  my  secret  and  a  fire 
built  under  it — then  I  went  home  and  slept. 

"I  guess  it  was  four  round  trips  that  I 
made  with  the  old  pelter,  before  Kelly  put 
this  and  that  together,  and  decided  to  put  me 
where  the  dogs  wouldn't  bite  me. 

"I  appeared  as  calm  as  I  could,  and  set  the 
example  since  followed  by  politicians,  that  of 
'dignified  silence.'  Kelly  tried  to  work  one 
of  the  'fellow  convict'  rackets  on  me,  but  I 
made  no  confessions.  I  soon  became  a  mar- 
tyr, in  the  eyes  of  the  women  of  the  town. 
You  boys  got  to  talking  of  backing  up  a  suit 


MORMON  JOE,  THE  ROBBER        213 

for  false  imprisonment ;  election  was  coming 
on  and  the  sheriff  and  county  judge  were 
getting  uneasy,  and  the  district  attorney  was 
awfully  unhappy,  so  they  let  me  out. 

"Nixon,  the  sheriff,  pumped  me  slyly,  to 
see  what  effect  my  imprisonment  would  have 
on  future  operations,  and  I  told  him  I  didn't 
propose  to  lose  any  time  over  it,  and  agreed 
to  drop  the  matter  for  a  little  nest-egg  equal 
to  the  highest  pay  received  by  any  engineer 
on  the  road.  Pat  Dailey  was  the  worst  hog 
for  overtime,  and  I  selected  his  pay  as  the 
standard  and  took  big  money, — from  the 
campaign  funds.  I  wasn't  afraid  of  re-ar- 
rest ; — I  had  'em  for  bribery. 

"Whilst  I  was  in  hock,  I  had  cold  chills 
every  time  I  heard  the  3i3's  whistle,  for  fear 
they  would  wash  her  out  and  find  the  dust; 
but  she  gave  up  nothing. 

"When  I  reported  for  work,  the  old  scrap 
was  out  on  construction  and  they  were  dis- 
posed to  put  me  on  another  mill,  pulling  var- 
nished cars,  but  I  told  the  old  man  I  was  un- 
der the  weather  and  'crummy,'  and  that  put 
him  in  a  good  humor ;  and  I  was  sent  out  to 


214        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

a  desolate  siding,  and  once  again  took  charge 
of  the  steam  'fence/  for  the  robber  of  the 
Black  Prince  mine. 

"On  Sunday,  by  a  little  maneuvering,  I 
managed  to  get  the  crew  to  go  off  on  a  trout- 
fishing  expedition,  and  under  pretext  of 
grinding-in  her  chronically  leaky  throttle,  I 
took  off  her  dome-cover  and  looked  in ;  there 
was  nothing  in  sight. 

"I  was  afraid  that  the  cooking  of  two 
months  or  more  had  destroyed  the  canvas 
bags;  then  again  the  heavy  deposit  of  scale 
might  have  cemented  the  bags  to  the  flues. 
In  either  case,  rough  handling  would  send 
the  dust  to  the  bottom  of  the  boiler,  making 
it  difficult  if  not  impossible  to  recover;  and 
worse  yet,  manifest  itself  sometime  and  give 
me  dead  away. 

"I  concluded  to  go  at  the  matter  right,  and 
after  two  hours  of  hard  work,  managed  to 
get  the  upright  throttle-pipe  out  of  the  dome. 
I  drew  her  water  down  below  the  flue-line, 
and  though  it  was  tolerably  warm,  I  got  in. 

"Both  of  my  surmises  were  partially  cor- 
rect; the  canvas  was  rotted,  in  a  measure, 


MORMON  JOE,  THE  ROBBER        215 

and  the  bags  were  fastened  to  the  flues.  The 
dust  had  been  put  up  in  buckskin  bags,  first, 
and  these  had  been  put  into  shot-sacks;  the 
buckskin  was  shrunken  but  intact.  I  took  a 
good  look  around,  before  I  dared  take  the 
treasure  into  the  sunlight ;  but  the  coast  was 
clear,  and  inside  of  an  hour  they  were  locked 
in  my  clothes-box,  and  the  cover  was  on  the 
kettle  again  and  I  was  pumping  her  up  by 
hand. 

"I  was  afraid  something  would  happen  to 
me  or  the  engine,  so  I  buried  the  packages  in 
a  bunch  of  willows  near  the  track. 

''It  must  have  been  two  weeks  after  this 
that  a  mover's  wagon  stopped  near  the  creek 
within  half  a  mile  of  the  track,  and  hobbled 
horses  soon  began  to  'rustle'  grass,  and  the 
smoke  of  a  camp-fire  hunted  the  clouds. 

"We  saw  this  sort  of  thing  often,  and  I 
didn't  any  more  than  glance  at  it;  but  after 
supper  I  sauntered  down  by  the  engine, 
smoking  and  thinking  of  Rachel  Rokesby, 
when  I  noticed  a  woman  walking  towards 
me,  pail  in  hand. 

"She  had  on  a  sunbonnet  that  hid  her  face 


2 1 6         STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

and  she  got  within  ten  feet  of  me  before  she 
spoke — she  asked  for  a  pail  of  drinking- 
water  from  the  tank — the  creek  was  muddy 
from  a  recent  rain. 

"Just  as  soon  as  she  spoke,  I  knew  it  was 
Rachel,  but  I  controlled  myself,  for  others 
were  within  hearing.  I  walked  with  her  to 
the  engine  and  got  the  water;  I  purposely 
drew  the  pail  full,  which  she  promptly 
spilled,  and  I  offered  to  carry  it  for  her. 

"The  crew  watched  us  walk  away  and  I 
heard  some  of  them  mention  'mash/  but  I 
didn't  care,  I  wanted  a  word  with  my  girl. 

"When  we  were  out  of  earshot,  she  asked 
without  looking  up : 

"'Well,  old  coolness,  are  you  all  right?' 

"'You  bet!  darling.' 

"  'Papa  has  sold  out  his  half  and  we  are 
going  away  for  good.  I  think  if  we  get  rid 
of  the  dust  without  trouble,  we  may  go  to 
England.  Just  as  soon  as  all  is  safe,  you 
shall  hear  from  me ;  can't  you  trust  me,  Joe  ?' 

"  'Yes,  Rachel,  darling;  now  and  forever.' 

"'Where's  the  gold?' 
'Within  one  hundred   feet  of  you,   in 


ft    M 


MORMON  JOE,  THE  ROBBER         21? 

those  willows ;  when  it  is  dark,  I  will  go  and 
get  it  and  put  it  on  that  stump  by  the  big 
tree ;  go  then  and  get  it.  But  where  will  you 
put  it?' 

"  Tm  going  to  pack  it  in  the  bottom  of  a 
jar  of  butter/ 

"  'Good  idea,  little  girl !  I  think  you'd 
make  a  good  thief  yourself.  How's  my 
friend,  Sanson?' 

"  'He's  gone  to  Mexico ;  says  yet  that  papa 
robbed  him,  but  he  knows  as  well  as  you  or  I 
that  all  his  bluster  was  because  he  only  found 
half  that  he  expected ;  I  pride  myself  on  get- 
ting ahead  of  a  wicked  man  once,  thanks  to 
our  hero,  by  the  name  of  Hogg.' 

"It  was  getting  dusk  and  we  were  out  of 
sight,  so  I  sat  down  the  pail  and  asked : 

"  'Do  I  get  a  kiss,  this  evening  ?' 

"  'If  you  want  one.' 

"  'There's  only  one  thing  I  want  worse.' 

"'What  is  that,  Joe?' 

"My  arm  was  around  her  waist  now,  and 
the  sunbonnet  was  shoved  back  from  the 
face.  I  took  a  couple  of  cream-puffs  where 
they  were  ripe,  and  answered : 


2l8        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

"  'That  message  to  come  and  have  that 
talk  about  matrimony.' 

"Here  a  man's  voice  was  heard  calling: 
'Rachel!  Rachel!'  and  throwing  her  arms 
around  my  neck,  she  gave  me  one  more  kiss, 
snatched  up  her  pail  and  answered : 

"  'Yes ;  I'm  coming.' 

"Then  to  me,  hurriedly : 

"  'Good-by,  dear ;  wait  patiently,  you  shall 
hear  from  me.' 

"I  went  back  and  put  the  dangerous  dust 
on  the  stump  and  returned  to  the  bunk-car. 
The  next  morning  when  I  turned  out,  the 
outlines  of  the  wagon  were  dimly  discernible 
away  on  a  hill  in  the  road ;  it  had  been  gone 
an  hour. 

"I  walked  down  past  my  stump — the  gold 
was  gone. 

"Well,  John,  I  settled  down  to  work  and  to 
wait  for  that  precious  letter  that  would  sum- 
mon me  to  the  side  of  Rachel  Rokesby, 
wherever  she  was ;  but  it  never  came.  Uncle 
Sam  never  delivered  a  line  to  me  from  her 
from  that  day  to  this." 

Joe  kicked  the  burning  sticks  in  our  fire 


MORMON  JOE,  THE  ROBBER        219 

closer  together,  lit  his  pipe  and  then  pro- 
ceeded : 

"I  was  hopeful  for  a  month  or  two ;  then 
got  impatient,  and  finally  got  angry,  but  it 
ended  in  despair.  A  year  passed  away  be- 
fore I  commenced  to  hunt,  instead  of  waiting 
to  be  hunted ;  but  after  another  year  I  gave 
it  up,  and  came  to  the  belief  that  Rachel  was 
dead  or  married  to  another.  But  the  very 
minute  that  such  a  treasonable  thought 
flashed  through  my  mind,  my  heart  held  up 
the  image  of  her  pure  face  and  rebuked  me. 

"I  was  discharged  finally,  for  forgetting 
orders — I  was  thinking  of  something  else — 
then  I  commenced  to  pull  myself  together 
and  determined  to  control  myself.  I  held  the 
job  in  Arizona  almost  a  year,  but  the  mill 
company  busted ;  then  I  drifted  down  on  to 
the  Mexican  National,  when  it  was  building, 
and  got  a  job.  A  few  months  later,  it  came 
to  my  ears  that  one  of  our  engineers,  Billy 
Gardiner,  was  in  one  of  their  damnable 
prisons,  for  running  over  a  Greaser,  and  I 
organized  a  relief  expedition.  I  called  on 
Gardiner,  and  talked  over  his  trouble  fully; 


220        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

he  was  in  a  loathsome  dobie  hole,  full  of  ver- 
min, and  dark.  As  I  sat  talking  to  him,  I 
noticed  an  old  man,  chained  to  the  wall  in  a 
little  entry  on  the  other  side  of  the  room. 
His  beard  was  grizzly  white,  long  and  tan- 
gled. He  was  hollow-cheeked  and  wild- 
eyed,  and  looked  at  me  in  a  strange,  fasci- 
nated way. 

"  'What's  he  in  for,'  I  whispered  to  Gardi- 
ner. 

"  'Murdered  his  partner  in  a  mining  camp. 
Got  caught  in  the  act.  He  don't  know  it 
yet,  but  he's  condemned  to  be  shot  next  Fri- 
day— to-morrow.  Poor  devil,  he's  half 
crazy,  anyhow.' 

"As  I  got  up  to  go,  the  old  man  made  a 
sharp  hiss,  and  as  I  turned  to  look  at  him,  he 
beckoned  with  his  finger.  I  took  a  step  or 
two  nearer,  and  he  asked,  in  an  audible  whis- 
per: 

"  'Mr.  Hogg,  don't  you  know  me?' 

"I  looked  at  him  long  and  critically,  and 
then  said : 

"  'No;  I  never  saw  you  before.' 

"  'Yes ;    that's  so,'  said  he ;    'but  I  have 


MORMON  JOE,  THE  ROBBER        221 

seen  you,  many  times.  You  remember  the 
Black  Prince  robbery  ?' 

"  'Yes,  indeed ;  then  you  are  Sanson  ?' 

"'No;  Rokesby.' 

"  'Rokesby !  My  God,  man,  where's 
Rachel?' 

"  'I  thought  so/  he  muttered.  'Well,  she's 
in  England,  but  I'm  here.' 

"'What  part  of  England?' 

"  'Sit  down  on  that  box,  Mr.  Hogg,  and  I 
will  tell  you  something.' 

"  'Is  she  married  ?'   I  asked  eagerly. 

"  'No,  lad,  she  ain't,  and  what's  more,  she 
won't  be  till  she  marries  you,  so  be  easy 
there/ 

"Just  here  a  pompous  Mexican  official 
strode  in,  stepped  up  in  front  of  the  old  man 
and  read  something  in  Spanish. 

"  'What  in  hell  did  he  say  ?'  asked  the  pris- 
oner of  Gardiner. 

"  'Something  about  sentence,  pardner/ 

'  'Well,  it's  time  they  was  doing  some- 
thing ;  did  he  say  when  it  was  ?' 

"  'To-morrow.' 

"  'Good  enough ;  I'm  dead  sick  o'  this/ 


222        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

"  'Can't  I  do  anything  for  you,  Mr. 
Rokesby —  for  Rachel's  sake?' 

'  'No — yes,  you  can,  too,  young  man ;  you 
can  grant  me  a  pardon  for  a  worse  crime  nor 
murder,  if  you  will — for — for  Rachel's 
sake." 

"  'It's  granted  then.' 

"  'Good !  that  gives  me  heart.  Now,  Mr. 
Hogg,  to  business,  it  was  me  that  robbed  the 
Black  Prince  mine.  I  took  every  last  cent 
there  was,  and  I  used  you  and  Rachel  to  do 
the  work  for  me  and  take  the  blame  if 
caught.  Sanson  was  honest  enough,  I  fired 
the  mill  myself. 

"  'It  was  me  that  sent  Rachel  to  you ;  I 
admired  your  face,  as  you  rode  by  the  claim 
every  day  on  your  engine.  I  knew  you  had 
nerve.  If  you  and  Rachel  hadn't  fallen  in 
love  with  one  another,  I'd  'a  lost  though; 
but  I  won. 

"  'Well,  I  took  the  money  I  got  for  the 
claim  and  sent  Rachel  back  to  her  mother's 
sister,  in  England.  You  may  not  know,  but 
she  is  not  my  daughter;  she  thinks  she  is, 
though.  Her  parents  died  when  she  was 


MORMON  JOE,  THE  ROBBER         22$ 

small,  and  I  provided  for  her.  I'm  her  half- 
uncle.  I  got  avaricious  in  my  old  age,  and 
went  into  a  number  of  questionable  schemes. 

"  'After  leaving  New  Mexico,  I  worked 
the  dust  off,  a  little  at  a  time,  an'  wasted  the 
money — but  never  mind  that. 

"  'It  was  just  before  she  got  aboard  the 
ship  that  Rachel  sent  me  a  letter  containing 
another  to  you,  to  be  sent  when  all  was  right 
— I've  carried  it  ever  since — somehow  or 
other  I  was  afraid  it  would  drop  a  clew  to 
send  it  at  first,  and  after  it  got  a  year  old,  I 
didn't  think  of  it  much.' 

"He  fumbled  around  inside  of  his  dirty 
flannel  shirt  for  a  minute,  and  soon  fished  up 
a  letter  almost  as  black  as  the  shirt,  and  hold- 
ing it  up,  said: 

"  That's  it/ 

"  'I  had  the  envelope  off  in  a  second,  and 
read: 


"  'DEAR  JOSEPH  : 

"  'I  am  going  to  my  aunt,  Mrs.  Julia  Brad- 
shaw,  15  Harrow  Lane,  Leicester,  England. 
If  you  do  not  change  your  mind,  I  will  be 


224        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

happy  to  talk  over  our  affairs  whenever  you 
are  ready.     I  shall  be  waiting. 

"  'RACHEL/ 


"I  turned  and  bolted  toward  a  door, 
when  Gardiner  yelled : 

"  'Where  are  you  going  ?' 

"  To  England,'  said  I. 

"  'This  door,  then,  sir,'  said  a  Mexican. 

"I  came  back  to  the  old  man. 

"  'Rokesby,'  said  I,  'you  have  cut  ten  years 
off  my  life,  but  I  forgive  you ;  good-by.' 

"  'One  thing  more,  Mr.  Hogg;  don't  tell 
'em  at  home  how  I  went — nothing  about  this 
last  deal.' 

'"Well,  all  right;  but  I'll  tell  Rachel,  if 
we  marry  and  come  to  America.' 

"  'I've  got  lots  of  honest  relations,  and  my 
old  mother  still  lives,  in  her  eighties/ 

"  'Well,  not  till  after  she  goes,  unless  to 
save  Rachel  in  some  way/ 

"  'Good-by,  Mr.  Hogg,  God  bless  you !  and 
— and,  little  Rachel/ 

"  'Good-by,  Mr.  Rokesby/ 

"The  next  day  I  left  Mexico    for   God's 


MORMON  JOE,  THE  ROBBER        22$ 

country,  and  inside  of  ten  days  was  on  a 
Cunarder,  eastward  bound.  I  reached  Eng- 
land in  proper  time ;  I  found  the  proper  pen 
in  the  proper  train,  and  was  deposited  in  the 
proper  town,  directed  to  the  proper  house, 
and  street,  and  number,  and  had  pulled  out 
about  four  yards  of  wire  attached  to  the 
proper  bell. 

"A  kindly- faced  old  lady  looked  at  me  over 
her  spectacles,  and  I  asked : 

"  'Does  Mrs.  Julia  Bradshaw  live  here?' 

"'Yes,  sir;  that's  me.' 

"  'Have  you  a  young  lady  here  named 
Rachel  R— ' 

"The  old  lady  didn't  wait  for  me  to  finish 
the  name,  she  just  turned  her  head  fifteen 
degrees,  put  her  open  hand  up  beside  her 
mouth,  and  shouted  upstairs : 

"  'Rachel !  Rachel !  Come  down  here, 
quick !  Here's  your  young  man  from  Amer- 
ica!'" 


A  Midsummer  Night's    Trip 


227 


A   MIDSUMMER   NIGHT'S   TRIP 

IT  is  all  of  twenty  years  now  since  the 
little  incident  happened  that  I  am  going  to 
tell  you  about.  After  the  strike  of  '77, 1  went 
into  exile  in  the  wild  and  woolly  West,  mostly 
in  "bleeding  Kansas,"  but  often  in  Colorado, 
New  Mexico,  and  Arizona — the  Santa  Fe 
goes  almost  everywhere  in  the  Southwest. 

One  night  in  August  I  was  dropping  an 
old  Baldwin  consolidator  down  a  long  Mexi- 
can grade,  after  having  helped  a  stock  train 
over  the  division  by  double-heading.  It  was 
close  and  hot  on  this  sage-brush  waste,  some- 
thing not  unusual  at  night  in  high  altitudes, 
and  the  heat  and  sheet  lightning  around  the 
horizon  warned  me  that  there  was  to  be  one 
of  those  short,  fierce  storms  that  come  but 
once  or  twice  a  year  in  these  latitudes,  and 
which  are  known  as  cloudbursts. 

The  alkali  plains,  or  deserts,  as  they  are 
229 


230        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

often  erroneously  called,  are  great  stretches 
of  adobe  soil,  known  as  "dobie"  by  the 
natives.  This  soil  is  a  yellowish  brown,  or 
perhaps  more  of  a  gray  color,  and  as  fine  as 
flour.  Water  plays  sad  havoc  with  it,  if  the 
soil  lies  so  as  to  oppose  the  flow,  and  it 
moves  like  dust  before  a  slight  stream.  On 
the  flat,  hard-baked  plains,  the  water  makes 
no  impression,  but  on  a  railroad  grade,  be  it 
ever  so  slight,  the  tendency  is  to  dig  pit- 
falls. I  have  seen  a  little  stream  of  water, 
just  enough  to  fill  the  ditches  on  each  side  of 
the  track,  take  out  all  the  dirt,  and  keep  the 
ties  and  track  afloat  until  the  water  was 
gone,  then  drop  them  into  a  hole  eight  or  ten 
feet  deep,  or  if  the  wash-out  was  short,  leave 
them  suspended,  looking  safe  and  sound,  to 
lure  some  poor  engineer  and  his  mate  to 
death. 

Another  peculiarity  of  these  storms  is  that 
they  come  quickly,  rage  furiously  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  are  gone,  and  their  lines  are 
sharply  defined.  It  is  not  uncommon  to  find 
a  lot  of  water,  or  a  wash-out,  within  a  mile 


A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  TRIP       231 

of  land  so  dry  that  it  looks  as  if  it  had  never 
seen  a  drop  of  water. 

All  this  land  is  fertile  when  it  can  be 
brought  under  irrigating  ditches  and  wa- 
tered, but  here  it  lies  out  almost  like  a  desert. 
It  is  sparsely  inhabited  along  the  little 
streams  by  a  straggling  off-shoot  of  the 
Mexican  race;  yet  once  in  a  while  a  fine 
place  is  to  be  seen,  like  an  oasis  in  the  Sahara, 
the  home  of  some  old  Spanish  Don,  with 
thousands  of  cattle  or  sheep  ranging  on  the 
plains,  or  perhaps  the  headquarters  of  some 
enterprising  cattle  company.  But  these 
places  were  few  and  far  between  at  the 
time  of  which  I  write;  the  stations  were 
mere  passing  places,  long  side-tracks,  with 
perhaps  a  stock-yard  and  section  house  once 
in  a  while,  but  generally  without  buildings 
or  even  switch  lights. 

Noting  the  approach  of  the  storm,  I  let 
the  heavy  engine  drop  the  faster,  hoping  to 
reach  a  certain  side-track,  over  twenty  miles 
away,  where  there  was  a  telegraph  operator, 
and  learn  from  him  the  condition  of  the  road. 
But  the  storm  was  faster  than  any  consolida- 


232 


STORIES  OF   THE  RAILROAD 


tor  that  Baldwins  ever  built,  and  as  the 
lightning  suddenly  ceased  and  the  air  became 
heavy,  hot,  and  absolutely  motionless,  I  real- 
ized that  we  would  have  the  storm  full  upon 
us  in  a  few  moments.  I  had  nothing  to  mest 
for  more  than  thirty  miles,  and  there  was 
nothing  behind  me ;  so  I  stopped,  turned  the 
headlight  up,  and  hung  my  white  signal 
lamps  down  below  the  buffer-beams  each 
side  of  the  pilot — this  to  enable  me  to  see  the 
ends  of  the  ties  and  the  ditch. 

Billy  Howell,  my  fireman,  and  a  good  one, 
hastily  went  over  the  boiler-jacket  with  sig- 
nal oil,  to  prevent  rust ;  we  donned  our  gum 
coats;  I  dropped  a  little  oil  on  the  "Mary 
Ann's"  gudgeon's,  and  we  proceeded  on  our 
way  without  a  word.  On  these  big  consolida- 
tors  you  cannot  see  well  ahead,  past  the  big 
boiler,  from  the  cab,  and  I  always  ran  with 
my  head  out  of  the  side  window.  Both  of 
us  took  this  position  now,  standing  up  ready 
for  anything;  but  we  bowled  safely  along 
for  one  mile — two  miles,  through  the  awful 
hush.  Then,  as  sudden  as  a  flash  of  light, 
"boom!"  went  a  peal  of  thunder  as  sharp 


A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHTS  TRIP       233 

and  clear  as  a  signal  gun.  There  was  a  flash 
of  light  along  the  rails,  the  surface  of  the 
desert  seemed  to  break  out  here  and  there 
with  little  fitful  jets  of  greenish-blue  flame, 
and  from  every  side  came  the  answering  re- 
ports from  the  batteries  of  heaven,  like  sis- 
ter gun-boats  answering  a  salute.  The  rain 
fell  in  torrents,  yes,  in  sheets.  I  have 
never,  before  or  since,  seen  such  a  grand 
and  fantastic  display  of  fireworks,  nor  heard 
such  rivalry  of  cannonade.  I  stopped  my  en- 
gine, and  looked  with  awe  and  interest  at 
this  angry  fit  of  nature,  watched  the  balls 
of  fire  play  along  the  ground,  and  realized 
for  the  first  time  what  a  sight  was  an  electric 
storm. 

As  the  storm  commenced  at  the  signal  of 
a  mighty  peal  of  thunder,  so  it  ended  as  sud- 
denly at  the  same  signal ;  the  rain  changed 
in  an  instant  from  a  torrent  to  a  gentle 
shower,  the  lightning-  went  out,  the  batteries 
ceased  their  firing,  the  breeze  commenced  to 
blow  gently,  the  air  was  purified.  Again  we 
heard  the  signal  peal  of  thunder,  but  it 
seemed  a  great  way  off,  as  if  the  piece  was 


234        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

hurrying  away  to  a  more  urgent  quarter. 
The  gentle  shower  ceased,  the  black  clouds 
were  torn  asunder  overhead ;  invisible  hands 
seemed  to  snatch  a  gray  veil  of  fleecy  clouds 
from  the  face  of  the  harvest  moon,  and  it 
shone  out  as  clear  and  serene  as  before  the 
storm.  The  ditches  on  each  side  of  the  track 
were  half  full  of  water,  ties  were  floating 
along  in  them,  but  the  track  seemed  safe  and 
sound,  and  we  proceeded  cautiously  on  our 
way.  Within  two  miles  the  road  turned  to 
the  West,  and  here  we  found  the  water  in  the 
ditches  running  through  dry  soil,  carrying 
dead  grass  and  twigs  of  sage  upon  its  sur- 
face ;  we  passed  the  head  of  the  flood,  tum- 
bling along  through  the  dry  ditches  as  dirty 
as  it  well  could  be,  and  fast  soaking  into  the 
soil ;  and  then  we  passed  beyond  the  line  of 
the  storm  entirely. 

Billy  put  up  his  seat  and  filled  his  pipe, 
and  I  sat  down  and  absorbed  a  sandwich  as 
I  urged  my  engine  ahead  to  make  up  for  lost 
time;  we  took  up  our  routine  of  work  just 
where  we  had  left  it,  and — life  was  the  same 
old  song.  It  was  past  midnight  now,  and  as 


A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S   TRIP 


235 


I  never  did  a  great  deal  of  talking  on  an  en- 
gine, I  settled  down  to  watching  the  rails 
ahead,  and  wondering  if  the  knuckle-joints 
would  pound  the  rods  off  the  pins  before  we 
got  to  the  end  of  the  division. 

Billy,  with  his  eyes  on  the  track  ahead, 
was  smoking  his  second  pipe  and  humming  a 
tune,  and  the  "Mary  Ann"  was  making  about 
forty  miles  an  hour,  but  doing  more  rolling 
and  pitching  and  jumping  up  and  down  than 
an  eight-wheeler  would  at  sixty.  All  at 
once  I  discerned  something  away  down  the 
track  where  the  rails  seemed  to  meet.  The 
moon  had  gone  behind  a  cloud,  and  the  head- 
light gave  a  better  view  and  penetrated  fur- 
ther. Billy  saw  it,  too,  for  he  took  his  pipe 
out  of  his  mouth,  and  with  his  eyes  still  upon 
it,  said  laconically,  as  was  his  wont :  "Cow." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  closing  the  throttle  and 
dropping  the  lever  ahead. 

"Man,"  said  Billy,  as  the  shape  seemed  to 
assume  a  perpendicular  position. 

"Yes,"  said  I,  reaching  for  the  three-way 
cock,  and  applying  the  tender  brake,  without 
thinking  what  I  did. 


236        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

"Woman,"  said  Billy,  as  the  shape  was 
seen  to  wear  skirts,  or  at  least  drapery. 

"Mexican,"  said  I,  as  I  noted  the  mantilla 
over  the  head.  We  were  fast  nearing  the 
object. 

"No,"  said  Billy,  "too  well  built." 

I  don't  know  what  he  judged  by;  we  could 
not  see  the  face,  for  it  was  turned  away  from 
us;  but  the  form  was  plainly  that  of  a 
comely  woman.  She  stood  between  the  rails 
with  her  arms  stretched  out  like  a  cross,  her 
white  gown  fitting  her  figure  closely.  A 
black,  shawl-like  mantilla  was  over  the  head, 
partly  concealing  her  face;  her  right  foot 
was  upon  the  left-hand  rail.  She  stood  per- 
fectly still.  We  were  within  fifty  feet  of 
her,  and  our  speed  was  reduced  to  half, 
when  Billy  said  sharply :  "Hold  her,  John — 
for  God's  sake !" 

But  I  had  the  "Mary  Ann"  in  the  back 
motion  before  the  words  left  his  mouth,  and 
was  choking  her  on  sand.  Billy  leaned  upon 
the  boiler-head  and  pulled  the  whistle-cord, 
but  the  white  figure  did  not  move.  I  shut 
my  eyes  as  we  passed  the  spot  where  she  had 


"  'Mexican,'  said  I" 

(Page  236.) 


A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  TRIP       237 

stood.  We  got  stopped  a  rod  or  two  beyond. 
I  took  the  white  light  in  the  tank  and  sprang 
to  the  ground.  Billy  lit  the  torch,  and  fol- 
lowed me  with  haste.  The  form  still  stood 
upon  the  track  just  where  we  had  first  seen 
it ;  but  it  faced  us  and  the  arms  were  folded. 
I  confess  to  hurrying  slowly  until  Billy 
caught  up  with  the  torch,  which  he  held  over 
his  head. 

"Good  evening,  senors,"  said  the  appari- 
tion, in  very  sweet  English,  just  tinged  with 
the  Castilian  accent,  but  she  spoke  as  if 
nearly  exhausted. 

"Good  gracious,"  said  I,  "whatever 
brought  you  away  out  here,  and  hadn't  you 
just  as  lief  shoot  a  man  as  scare  him  to 
death?" 

She  laughed  very  sweetly,  and  said :  "The 
washout  brought  me  just  here,  and  I  fancy 
it  was  lucky  for  you — both  of  you." 

"Washout  ?"  said  I.     "Where  ?" 

"At  the  dry  bridge  beyond." 

Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  we  took 
her  on  the  engine — she  was  wet  through — 
and  went  on  to  the  dry  bridge.  This  was  a 


238        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

little  wooden  structure  in  a  sag,  about  a 
mile  away,  and  we  found  that  the  storm  we 
had  encountered  farther  back  had  done  bad 
work  at  each  end  of  the  bridge.  We  did 
not  cross  that  night,  but  after  placing  signals 
well  behind  us  and  ahead  of  the  washout,  we 
waited  until  morning,  the  three  of  us  sitting 
in  the  cab  of  the  "Mary  Ann,"  chatting  as  if 
we  were  old  acquaintances. 

This  young  girl,  whose  fortunes  had  been 
so  strangely  cast  with  ours,  was  the  daughter 
of  Senor  Juan  Arboles,  a  rich  old  Spanish 
Don  who  owned  a  fine  place  and  immense 
herds  of  sheep  over  on  the  Rio  Pecos,  some 
ten  miles  west  of  the  road.  She  was  being 
educated  in  some  Catholic  school  or  convent 
at  Trinidad,  and  had  the  evening  before 
alighted  at  the  big  corrals,  a  few  miles  be- 
low, where  she  was  met  by  one  of  her  fa- 
ther's Mexican  rancheros,  who  led  her  saddle 
broncho.  They  had  started  on  their  fifteen- 
mile  ride  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  and  fol- 
lowing the  road  back  for  a  few  miles  were 
just  striking  off  toward  the  distant  hedge  of 


A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  TRIP      239 

cotton  woods  that  lined  the  little  stream  by 
her  home  when  the  storm  came  upon  them. 

There  was  a  lone  pine  tree  hardly  larger 
than  a  bush  about  a  half-mile  from  the  track, 
and  riding  to  this,  the  girl,  whose  name  was 
Josephine,  had  dismounted  to  seek  its  scant 
protection,  while  the  herder  tried  to  hold  the 
frightened  horses.  As  peal  on  peal  of  thun- 
der resounded  and  the  electric  lights  of 
nature  played  tag  over  the  plain,  the  horses 
became  more  and  more  unmanageable  and  at 
last  stampeded,  with  old  Paz  muttering 
Mexican  curses  and  chasing  after  them 
wildly. 

After  the  storm  passed,  Josephine  waited 
in  vain  for  Paz  and  the  bronchos,  and  then 
debated  whether  she  should  walk  toward  her 
home  or  back  to  the  corrals.  In  either  direc- 
tion the  distance  was  long,  and  the  adobe 
soil  is  very  tenacious  when  wet,  and  the  way- 
farer needs  great  strength  to  carry  the  load  it 
imposes  on  the  feet.  As  she  stood  there, 
thinking  what  it  was  best  to  do,  a  sound 
came  to  her  ears  from  the  direction  of  the 
timber  and  home,  which  she  recognized  in  an 


240        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

instant,  and  without  waiting  to  debate  fur- 
ther, she  turned  and  ran  with  all  her  strength, 
not  toward  her  home,  but  away  from  it. 
Across  the  waste  of  stunted  sage  she  sped, 
the  cool  breeze  upon  her  face,  every  muscle 
strained  to  its  utmost.  Nearer  and  nearer 
came  the  sound ;  the  deep,  regular  bay  of  the 
timber  wolf.  These  animals  are  large  and 
fierce;  they  do  not  go  in  packs,  like  the 
smaller  and  more  cowardly  breeds  of  wolves, 
but  in  pairs,  or,  at  most,  six  together.  A  pair 
of  them  will  attack  a  man  even  when  he  is 
mounted,  and  lucky  is  he  if  he  is  well  armed 
and  cool  enough  to  despatch  one  before  it 
fastens  its  fangs  in  his  horse's  throat  or  his 
own  thigh. 

As  the  brave  girl  ran,  she  cast  about  for 
some  means  of  escape  or  place  of  refuge. 
She  decided  to  run  to  the  railroad  track  and 
climb  a  telegraph  pole — a  feat  which,  owing 
to  her  free  life  on  the  ranch,  she  was  per- 
fectly capable  of.  Once  up  the  pole,  she 
could  rest  on  the  cross-tree,  in  perfect  safety 
from  the  wolves,  and  she  would  be  sure  to  be 


A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHTS  TRIP       241 

seen  and  rescued  by  the  first  train  that  came 
along  after  daybreak. 

She  approached  the  track  over  perfectly  dry 
ground.  To  reach  the  telegraph  poles,  she 
sprang  nimbly  into  the  ditch ;  and  as  she  did 
so,  she  saw  a  stream  of  water  coming  rapidly 
toward  her — it  was  the  front  of  the  flood. 
The  ditch  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  track, 
which  she  must  also  cross  to  reach  the  line  of 
poles,  she  found  already  full-flooded.  She 
decided  to  run  up  the  track,  between  the 
walls  of  water.  This  would  put  a  ten-foot 
stream  between  her  and  her  pursuers,  and 
change  her  course  enough,  she  hoped,  to 
throw  them  off  the  scent.  In  this  design  she 
was  partly  successful,  for  the  bay  of  the 
wolves  showed  that  they  were  going  to  the 
track  as  she  had  gone,  instead  of  cutting 
straight  across  toward  her.  Thus  she  gained 
considerable  time.  She  reached  the  little 
arroyo  spanned  by  the  dry  bridge ;  it  was  like 
a  mill-pond,  and  the  track  was  afloat.  She 
ran  across  the  bridge ;  she  scarcely  slackened 
speed,  although  the  ties  rocked  and  moved  on 
the  spike-heads  holding  them  to  the  rails. 


242        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

She  hoped  for  a  moment  that  the  wolves 
would  not  venture  to  follow  her  over  such  a 
way;  but  their  hideous  voices  were  still  in 
her  ear  and  came  nearer  and  nearer.  Then 
there  came  to  her,  faintly,  another,  a  strange, 
metallic  sound.  What  was  it  ?  Where  was 
it?  She  ran  on  tiptoe  a  few  paces  in  order 
to  hear  it  better ;  it  was  in  the  rails — the  vi- 
bration of  a  train  in  motion.  Then  there 
came  into  view  a  light — a  headlight;  but  it 
was  so  far  away,  so  very  far,  and  that  awful 
baying  so  close!  The  "Mary  Ann,"  how- 
ever, was  fleeter  of  foot  than  the  wolves ;  the 
light  grew  big  and  bright  and  the  sound  of 
working  machinery  came  to  the  girl  on  the 
breeze. 

Would  they  stop  for  her  ?  Could  she  make 
them  see  her?  Then  she  thought  of  the 
bridge.  It  was  death  for  them  as  well  as 
for  her — they  must  see  her.  She  resolved 
to  stay  on  the  track  until  they  whistled  her 
off;  but  now  the  light  seemed  to  come  so 
slow.  A  splash  at  her  side  caused  her  to 
turn  her  head,  and  there,  a  dozen  feet  away, 
were  her  pursuers,  their  tongues  out,  their 


A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  TRIP       243 

eyes  shining  like  balls  of  fire.  They  were 
just  entering  the  water  to  come  across  to 
her.  They  fascinated  her  by  their  very 
fierceness.  Forgetting  where  she  was  for 
the  instant,  she  stared  dumbly  at  them  until 
called  to  life  and  action  by  a  scream  from 
the  locomotive's  whistle.  Then  she  sprang 
from  the  track  just  in  the  nick  of  time. 
She  actually  laughed  as  she  saw  two  grayish- 
white  wolf-tails  bob  here  and  there  among 
the  sage  brush,  as  the  wolves  took  flight  at 
sight  of  the  engine. 

This  was  the  story  she  told  as  she  dried 
her  garments  before  the  furnace  door,  and  I 
confess  to  holding  this  cool,  self-reliant  girl 
in  high  admiration.  She  never  once  thought 
of  fainting;  but  along  toward  morning  she 
did  say  that  she  was  scared  then  at  thinking 
of  it. 

Early  in  the  morning  a  party  of  herders, 
with  Josephine's  father  ahead,  rode  into 
sight.  They  were  hunting  for  her.  Joseph- 
ine got  up  on  the  tender  to  attract  their  at- 
tention, and  soon  she  was  in  her  father's 
arms.  Her  frightened  pony  had  gone  home 


244        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

as  fast  as  his  legs  would  carry  him,  and  a 
relief  party  swam  their  horses  at  the  ford 
and  rode  forward  at  once. 

The  old  Don  was  profuse  in  his  thanks, 
and  would  not  leave  us  until  Billy  and  I  had 
agreed  to  visit  his  ranch  and  enjoy  a  hunt 
with  him,  and  actually  set  a  date  when  we 
should  meet  him  at  the  big  corral.  I  wanted 
a  rest  anyway,  and  it  was  perfectly  plain  that 
Billy  was  beyond  his  depth  in  love  with  the 
girl  at  first  sight;  so  we  were  not  hard  to 
persuade  when  she  added  her  voice  to  her 
father's. 

Early  in  September  Billy  and  I  dropped 
off  No.  i  with  our  guns  and  "plunder,"  as 
baggage  is  called  there,  and  a  couple  of  the 
old  Don's  men  met  us  with  saddle  and  pack 
animals.  I  never  spent  a  pleasanter  two 
weeks  in  my  life.  The  quiet,  almost  gloomy, 
old  Don  and  I  became  fast  friends,  and  the 
hunting  was  good.  The  Don  was  a  Spaniard, 
but  Josephine's  mother  had  been  a  Mexican 
woman,  and  one  noted  for  her  beauty.  She 
had  been  dead  some  years  at  the  time  of  our 
visit.  Billy  devoted  most  of  his  time  to  the 


A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHTS  TRIP      245 

girl.  They  were  a  fine  looking  young  couple, 
he  being  strong  and  broad-shouldered,  with 
laughing  blue  eyes  and  light  curly  hair,  she 
slender  and  perfect  in  outline,  with  a  typical 
Southern  complexion,  black  eyes — and  such 
eyes  they  were — and  hair  and  eyebrows  like 
the  raven's  wing. 

A  few  days  before  Billy  and  I  were  booked 
to  resume  our  duties  on  the  deck  of  the 
"Mary  Ann,"  Miss  Josephine  took  my  arm 
and  walked  me  down  the  yard  and  pumped 
me  quietly  about  "Mr.  Howell,"  as  she  called 
Billy.  She  went  into  details  a  little,  and  I 
answered  all  questions  as  best  I  could.  All  I 
said  was  in  the  young  man's  favor — it  could 
not,  in  truth,  be  otherwise.  Josephine  seemed 
satisfied  and  pleased. 

When  we  got  back  to  headquarters,  I  was 
given  the  care  of  a  cold-water  Hinkley,  with 
a  row  of  varnished  cars  behind  her,  and  Billy 
fell  heir  to  the  rudder  of  the  "Mary  Ann." 
We  still  roomed  together.  Billy  put  in  most 
of  his  lay-over  time  writing  long  letters  to 
somebody,  and  every  Thursday,  as  regular 
as  a  clock,  one  came  for  him,  with  a  censor's 


246        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

mark  on  it.  Often  after  reading  the  letter, 
Billy  would  say :  "That  girl  has  more  horse 
sense  than  the  rest  of  the  whole  female  race 
— she  don't  slop  over  worth  a  cent."  He  in- 
variably spoke  of  her  as  "my  Mexican  girl," 
and  often  asked  my  opinion  about  white  men 
intermarrying  with  that  mongrel  race.  Some- 
times he  said  that  his  mother  would  go  crazy 
if  he  married  a  Mexican,  his  father  would 
disown  him,  and  his  brother  Henry — well, 
Billy  did  not  like  to  think  just  what  revenge 
Henry  would  take.  Billy's  father  was  man- 
ager of  an  Eastern  road,  and  his  brother  was 
assistant  to  the  first  vice-president,  and  Billy 
looked  up  to  the  latter  as  a  great  man  and  a 
sage.  He  himself  was  in  the  West  for  prac- 
tical experience  in  the  machinery  depart- 
ment, and  to  get  rid  of  a  slight  tendency  to 
asthma.  He  could  have  gone  East  any  time 
and  "been  somebody"  on  the  road  under  his 
father. 

Finally,  Billy  missed  a  week  in  writing. 
At  once  there  was  a  cog  gone  from  the  an- 
swering wheel  to  match.  Billy  shortened 
his  letters;  the  answers  were  shortened. 


A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S   TRIP 

Then  he  quit  writing,  and  his  Thursday  let- 
ter ceased  to  come.  He  had  thought  the  mat" 
ter  all  over,  and  decided,  no  doubt,  that  he 
was  doing  what  was  best — both  for  himself 
and  the  girl;  that  his  family's  high  ideas 
should  not  be  outraged  by  a  Mexican  mar- 
riage. He  had  put  a  piece  of  flesh-colored 
court-plaster  over  his  wound,  not  healed  it. 
Early  in  the  winter  the  old  Don  wrote, 
urging  us  to  come  down  and  hunt  antelope, 
but  Billy  declined  to  go — said  that  the  road 
needed  him,  and  that  Josephine  might  come 
home  from  school  and  this  would  make  them 
both  uncomfortable.  But  Henry,  his  older 
brother,  was  visiting  him,  and  he  suggested 
that  I  take  Henry;  he  would  enjoy  the  hunt, 
and  it  would  help  him  drown  his  sorrow  over 
the  loss  of  his  aristocratic  young  wife,  who 
had  died  a  year  or  two  before.  So  Henry 
went  with  me,  and  we  hunted  antelope  until 
we  tired  of  the  slaughter.  Then  the  old  Don 
planned  a  deer-hunting  trip  in  the  moun- 
tains, but  I  had  to  go  back  to  work,  and  left 
Henry  and  the  old  Don  to  take  the  trip  with- 
out me.  While  they  were  in  the  mountains, 


248        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

Josephine  came  home,  and  Henry  Howell's 
stay  lengthened  out  to  a  month.  But  I  did 
not  know  until  long  afterward  that  the  two 
had  met. 

Billy  was  pretty  quiet  all  winter,  worked 
hard  and  went  out  but  little — he  was  think- 
ing about  something.  One  day  I  came  home 
and  found  him  writing  a  letter.  "What  now, 
Billy?"  I  asked. 

"Writing  to  my  Mexican  girl,"  said  he. 

"I  thought  you  had  got  over  that  a  long 
time  ago?" 

"So  did  I,  but  I  hadn't.  I've  been  trying 
to  please  somebody  else  besides  myself  in 
this  matter,  and  I'm  done.  I'm  going  to 
work  for  Bill  now." 

"Take  an  old  man's  advice,  Billy,  and 
don't  write  that  girl  a  line — go  and  see  her." 

"Oh,  I  can  fix  it  all  right  by  letter,  and 
then  run  down  there  and  see  her." 

"Don't  do  it." 

"I'll  risk  it." 

A  week  later  Billy  and  I  sat  on  the  ve- 
randa of  the  company's  hash-foundry,  figur- 
ing up  our  time  and  smoking  our  cob  meer- 


A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHTS  TRIP       249 

schaums,  when  one  of  the  boys  who  had  been 
to  the  office,  placed  two  letters  in  Billy's 
hands.  One  of  them  was  directed  in  the 
handwriting  that  used  to  be  on  the  old 
Thursday  letters.  Billy  tore  it  open  eagerly 
— and  his  own  letter  to  Josephine  dropped 
into  his  hand.  Billy  looked  at  the  ground 
steadily  for  five  minutes,  and  I  pretended  not 
to  have  seen.  Finally  he  said,  half  to  him- 
self :  "You  were  right,  I  ought  to  have  gone 
myself — but  I'll  go  now,  go  to-morrow." 
Then  he  opened  the  other  letter. 

He  read  its  single  page  with  manifest  in- 
terest, and  when  his  eyes  reached  the  last 
line  they  went  straight  on,  and  looked  at  the 
ground,  and  continued  to  do  so  for  fully  five 
minutes.  Without  looking  up,  he  said: 
"John,  I  want  you  to  do  me  two  favors." 

"All  right,"  said  I. 

Still  keeping  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  he 
said,  slowly,  as  if  measuring  everything 
well :  "I'm  going  up  and  draw  my  time,  and 
will  leave  for  Old  Mexico  on  No.  4  to-night. 
I  want  you  to  write  to  both  these  parties  and 
tell  them  that  I  have  gone  there  and  that  you 


250        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

have  forwarded  both  these  letters.     Don't 
tell  'em  that  I  went  after  reading  'em." 

"And  the  other  favor,  Billy?" 

"Read  this  letter,  and  see  me  off  to-night." 

The  letter  read : 

"Philadelphia,  May  i,  1879. 
"DEAR  BROTHER  WILL:  I  want  you  and 
Mr.  A.  to  go  down  to  Don  Juan  Arboles's 
by  the  first  of  June.  I  will  be  there  then. 
You  must  be  my  best  man,  as  I  stand  up  to 
marry  the  sweetest,  dearest  wild-flower  of  a 
woman  that  ever  bloomed  in  a  land  of 
beauty.  Don't  fail  me.  Josephine  will  like 
you  for  my  sake,  and  you  will  love  her  for 
your  brother.  HENRY/' 

Most  engineers'  lives  are  busy  ones  and 
full  of  accident  and  incident,  and  having  my 
full  share  of  both,  I  had  almost  forgotten  all 
these  points  about  Billy  Howell  and  his 
Mexican  girl,  when  they  were  all  recalled  by 
a  letter  from  Billy  himself.  With  his  letter 
was  a  photograph  of  a  family  group — a  be- 
whiskered  man  of  thirty-five,  a  good-looking 
woman  of  twenty,  but  undoubtedly  a  Mexi- 


A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S   TRIP 


251 


can,  and  a  curly-headed  baby,  perhaps  a  year 
old     The  letter  ran : 

"City  of  Mexico,  July  21,  1890. 
"DEAR  OLD  JOHN  :  I  had  lost  you,  and 
thought  that  perhaps  you  had  gone  over  to 
the  majority,  until  I  saw  your  name  and  rec- 
ognized your  quill  in  a  story.  Write  to  me ; 
am  doing  well.  I  send  you  a  photograph  of 
all  there  are  of  the  Howell  outfit.  No  half- 
breeds  for  your  uncle  this  time. 

"WM.  HOWELL." 


The   Polar  Zone 


253 


THE  POLAR  ZONE 

VERY  few  of  my  friends  know  me  for  a 
seafaring  man,  but  I  sailed  the  salt  seas,  man 
and  boy,  for  nine  months  and  eighteen  days, 
and  I  know  just  as  much  about  sailing  the 
hereinbefore  mentioned  salt  seas  as  I  ever 
want  to. 

Ever  so  long  ago,  when  I  was  young  and 
tender,  I  used  to  have  fits  of  wanting  to  go 
into  business  for  myself.  Along  about  the 
front  edge  of  the  seventies,  pay  for  "toting" 
people  and  truck  over  the  eastern  railroads 
of  New  England  was  not  of  sufficient  plen- 
itude to  worry  a  man  as  to  how  he  would 
invest  his  pay  check — it  was  usually  invested 
before  he  got  it.  One  of  my  periodical  fits 
of  wanting  to  go  into  business  for  myself 
came  on  suddenly  one  day,  when  I  got  home 
and  found  another  baby  in  the  house.  I  was 
right  in  the  very  worst  spasms  of  it  when 
255 


256        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

my  brother  Enoch,  whom  I  hadn't  seen  for 
seventeen  years,  walked  in  on  me. 

Enoch  was  fool  enough  to  run  away  to 
sea  when  he  was  twelve  years  old — I  sup- 
pose he  was  afraid  he  would  get  the  chance 
to  do  something  besides  whaling.  We  were 
born  down  New  Bedford  way,  where  an- 
other boy  and  myself  were  the  only  two  fel- 
lows in  the  district,  for  over  forty  years,  who 
didn't  go  hunting  whales,  icebergs,  foul 
smells,  and  scurvy,  up  in  King  Frost's  baili- 
wick, just  south  of  the  Pole. 

Enoch  had  been  captain  and  part  o\vner  of 
a  Pacific  whaler;  she  had  recently  burned 
at  Honolulu,  and  he  was  back  home  now  to 
buy  a  new  ship.  He  had  heard  that  I,  his 
little  brother  John,  was  the  best  locomotive 
engineer  in  the  whole  world,  and  had  come 
to  see  me — partly  on  account  of  relationship, 
but  more  to  get  my  advice  about  buying  a 
steam  whaling-ship.  Enoch  knew  more 
about  whales  and  ships  and  such  things  than 
you  could  put  down  in  a  book,  but  he  had 
no  more  idea  how  steam  propelled  a  ship 
than  I  had  what  a  "skivvie  tricer"  was. 


THE  POLAR  ZONE  257 

Well,  before  the  week  was  out,  Enoch 
showed  me  that  he  was  pretty  well  fixed  in  a 
financial  way,  and  as  he  had  no  kin  but  me 
that  he  cared  about,  he  offered  me  an  inter- 
est in  his  new  steam  whaler,  if  I  would  go 
as  chief  engineer  with  her  to  the  North  Pa- 
cific. 

The  terms  were  liberal  and  the  chance  a 
good  one,  so  it  seemed,  and  after  a  good 
many  consultations,  my  wife  agreed  to  let 
me  go  for  one  cruise.  She  asked  about  the 
stops  to  be  made  in  going  around  the  Horn, 
and  figured  mentally  a  little  after  each 
place  was  named — I  believe  now,  she  half 
expected  that  I  would  desert  the  ship  and 
walk  home  from  one  of  these  spots,  and  was 
figuring  on  the  time  it  would  take  me. 

When  the  robins  were  building  their  nests, 
the  new  steam  whaler,  "Champion,"  left 
New  Bedford  for  parts  unknown  (via  the 
Horn),  with  the  sea-sickest  chief  engineer 
that  ever  smelt  fish  oil.  The  steam  plant 
wasn't  very  much — two  boilers  and  a  plain 
twenty-eight  by  thirty-six  double  engine, 
and  any  amount  of  hoisting  rigs,  blubber 


258         STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

boilers,  and  other  paraphernalia.  We  refitted 
in  San  Francisco,  and  on  a  clear  summer 
morning  turned  the  white-painted  figure- 
head of  the  "Champion"  toward  the  north 
and  stood  out  for  Behring  sea.  But,  while 
we  lay  at  the  mouth  of  the  Yukon  river,  up 
in  Alaska,  getting  ready  for  a  sally  into  the 
realm  of  water  above  the  Straits,  a  whaler, 
bound  for  San  Francisco  and  home,  dropped 
anchor  near  us,  the  homesickness  struck  in 
on  me,  and — never  mind  the  details  now — 
your  Uncle  John  came  home  without  any 
whales,  and  was  mighty  glad  to  get  on  the 
extra  list  of  the  old  road. 

The  story  I  want  to  tell,  however,  is  an- 
other man's  story,  and  it  was  while  lying 
in  the  Yukon  that  I  heard  it.  I  was  deeply 
impressed  with  it  at  the  time,  and  meant  to 
give  it  to  the  world  as  soon  as  I  got  home, 
for  I  set  it  all  down  plain  then,  but  I  lost 
my  diary,  and  half  forgot  the  story — who 
wouldn't  forget  a  story  when  he  had  to  make 
two  hundred  and  ten  miles  a  day  on  a  loco- 
motive and  had  five  children  at  home?  But 
now,  after  twenty  years,  my  wife  turns  up 


THE  POLAR  ZONE  259 

that  old  diary  in  the  garret  this  spring  while 
house-cleaning.  Fred  had  it  and  an  old 
Fourth-of-July  cannon  put  away  in  an  an- 
cient valise,  as  a  boy  will  treasure  up  useless 
things. 

Under  the  head  of  October  I2th,  I  find 
this  entry : 

"At  anchor  in  Yukon  river,  weather  fair, 
recent  heavy  rains ;  set  out  packing  and  filed 
main-rod  brasses  of  both  engines.  Settled 
with  Enoch  to  go  home  on  first  ship  bound 
south.  Demented  white  man  brought  on 
board  by  Indians,  put  in  my  cabin." 

In  the  next  day's  record  there  appears  the 
following:  "Watched  beside  sick  man  all 
night ;  in  intervals  of  sanity  he  tells  a  strange 
story,  which  I  will  write  down  to-day." 

The  1 4th  has  the  following: 

"Wrote  out  story  of  stranger.  See  the 
back  of  this  book." 

And  at  the  back  of  the  book,  written  on 
paper  cut  from  an  old  log  of  the  "Cham- 
pion," is  the  story  that  now,  more  than 
twenty-five  years  later,  I  tell  you  here : 

On  the  evening  of  the  I2th,  I  went  on  deck 


260    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

to  smoke  and  think  of  home,  after  a  hard 
day's  work  getting  the  engines  in  shape  for 
a  siege.  The  ship  was  very  quiet,  half  the 
crew  being  ashore,  and  some  of  the  rest  hav- 
ing gone  in  the  boat  with  Captain  Enoch  to 
the  "Enchantress,"  homeward  bound  and  ly- 
ing about  half  a  mile  below  us.  I  am  glad 
to  say  that  Enoch's  principal  business  aboard 
the  "Enchantress"  is  to  get  me  passage  to 
San  Francisco.  I  despise  this  kind  of  dreari- 
ness— rather  be  in  state  prison  near  the  folks. 

I  sat  on  the  rail,  just  abaft  the  stack, 
watching  some  natives  handle  their  big  ca- 
noes, when  a  smaller  one  came  alongside.  I 
noticed  that  one  of  the  occupants  lay  at  full 
length  in  the  frail  craft,  but  paid  little  at- 
tention until  the  canoe  touched  our  side. 
Then  the  bundle  of  skins  and  Indian  clothes 
bounded  up,  almost  screamed,  "At  last!" 
made  a  spring  at  the  stays,  missed  them,  and 
fell  with  a  loud  splash  into  the  water. 

The  Indians  rescued  him  at  once,  and  in  a 
few  seconds  he  lay  like  one  dead  on  the  deck. 
I  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  stranger  in  Indian 
clothes  was  a  white  man  and  an  American. 


THE  POLAR  ZONE  26l 

A  pretty  stiff  dram  of  liquor  brought  him 
to  slightly.  He  opened  his  eyes,  looked  up 
at  the  rigging,  and  closing  his  eyes,  he  mur- 
mured: "Thank  God! — 'Frisco — Polaria!" 

I  had  him  undressed  and  put  into  my 
berth.  He  was  shaking  as  with  an  ague,  and 
when  his  clothes  were  off  we  plainly  saw  the 
reason — he  was  a  skeleton,  starving.  I  went 
on  deck  at  once  to  make  some  inquiry  of  the 
Indians  about  our  strange  visitor,  but  their 
boat  was  just  disappearing  in  the  twilight. 

The  man  gained  strength,  as  we  gave  him 
nourishment  in  small,  frequent  doses,  and 
talked  in  a  disjointed  way  of  everything  un- 
der the  sun.  I  sat  with  him  all  night.  To- 
ward morning  he  seemed  to  sleep  longer  at  a 
time,  and  in  the  afternoon  of  yesterday  fell 
into  a  deep  slumber,  from  which  he  did  not 
waken  for  nearly  twenty  hours. 

When  he  did  waken,  he  took  nourishment 
in  larger  quantities,  and  then  went  off  into 
another  long  sleep.  The  look  of  pain  on  his 
face  lessened,  a  healthy  glow  appeared  on 
his  cheek,  and  he  slept  so  soundly  that  I 
turned  in — on  the  floor. 


262    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

I  was  awake  along  in  the  small  hours  of 
the  morning,  and  heard  my  patient  stirring, 
so  I  got  up  and  drew  the  little  curtain  over 
the  bulls-eye  port — it  was  already  daylight. 
I  gave  him  a  drink  and  a  biscuit,  and  told 
him  I  would  go  to  the  cook's  galley  and  get 
him  some  broth,  but  he  begged  to  wait  until 
breakfast  time — said  he  felt  refreshed,  and 
would  just  nibble  a  sea  biscuit.  Then  he  ate 
a  dozen  in  as  many  minutes. 

"Did  you  take  care  of  my  pack?"  he  said 
eagerly,  throwing  his  legs  out  of  the  berth, 
and  looking  wildly  at  me. 

"Yes,  it's  all  right;  lie  down  and  rest," 
said  I ;  for  I  thought  that  to  cross  him  would 
set  him  off  his  head  again. 

"Do  you  know  that  dirty  old  pack  con- 
tains more  treasures  than  the  mines  of  Af- 
rica?" 

"It  don't  look  it,"  I  answered,  and 
laughed  to  get  him  in  a  pleasant  frame  of 
mind — for  I  hadn't  seen  nor  heard  of  his 
pack. 

"Not  for  the  little  gold  and  other  valua- 
ble things,  but  the  proofs  of  a  discovery  as 


THE  POLAR  ZONE 


263 


great  as  Columbus  made,  the  discovery  of  a 
new  continent,  a  new  people,  a  new  lan- 
guage, a  new  civilization,  and  riches  beyond 
the  dreams  of  a  Solomon " 

He  shut  his  eyes  for  a  minute,  and  then 
continued :  "But  beyond  Purgatory,  through 
Death,  and  the  other  side  of  Hell " 

Just  here  Enoch  came  in  to  inquire  after 
his  health,  and  sat  down  for  a  minute's  chat. 
Enoch  is  first,  last,  and  all  the  time  captain 
of  a  whaler;  he  knows  about  whales  and 
whale-hunters  just  as  an  engineer  on  the 
road  knows  every  speck  of  scenery  along  the 
line,  every  man,  and  every  engine.  Enoch 
couldn't  talk  ten  minutes  without  being  "re- 
minded" of  an  incident  in  his  whaling  life; 
couldn't  meet  a  whaleman  without  "yarning" 
about  the  whale  business.  He  lit  his  pipe  and 
asked :  "Been  whaling,  or  hunting  the  North 
Pole?" 

"Well,  both." 

"What  ship?" 

"The  'Duncan  McDonald.'  " 

"The — the  'McDonald!' — why,  man,  we 
counted  her  lost  these  five  years;  tell  me 


264         STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

about  her,  quick.  Old  Chuck  Burrows  was 
a  particular  friend  of  mine — where  is  he?" 

"Captain,  Father  Burrows  and  the  'Dun- 
can McDonald'  have  both  gone  over  the  un- 
known ocean  to  the  port  of  missing  ships." 

"Sunk?" 

"Aye,  and  crushed  to  atoms  in  a  frozen 
hell." 

Enoch  looked  out  of  the  little  window  for 
a  long  time,  forgot  his  pipe,  and  at  last  wiped 
a  tear  out  of  his  eye,  saying,  as  much  to  him- 
self as  to  us:  "George  Burrows  made  me 
first  mate  of  the  first  ship  he  ever  sailed.  She 
was  named  for  his  mother,  and  we  left  her 
in  the  ice  away  up  about  the  seventy-third 
parallel.  He  was  made  of  the  salt  of  the 
earth — a  sailor  and  a  nobleman.  But  he  was 
a  dare-devil — didn't  know  fear — and  was  al- 
ways venturing  where  none  of  the  rest  of  us 
would  dare  go.  He  bought  the  'McDonald,' 
remodeled  and  refitted  her  after  he  got  back 
from  the  war — she  was  more  than  a  whaler, 
and  I  had  a  feeling  that  she  would  carry 
Burrows  and  his  crew  away  forever " 

Eight  bells  rung  just  here,  and  Enoch  left 


THE  POLAR  ZONE  265 

us,  first  ordering  breakfast  for  the  stranger, 
and  saying  he  would  come  back  to  hear  the 
rest  after  breakfast. 

As  I  was  going  out,  a  sailor  came  to  the 
door  with  a  flat  package,  perhaps  six  inches 
thick  and  twelve  or  fourteen  square,  covered 
with  a  dirty  piece  of  skin  made  from  the  in- 
testines of  a  whale,  which  is  used  by  the  na- 
tives of  this  clime  because  it  is  light  and 
water-proof. 

"We  found  this  in  a  coil  of  rope,  sir;  it 
must  belong  to  him.  It  must  be  mostly 
lead." 

It  was  heavy,  and  I  set  it  inside  the  door, 
remarking  that  here  was  his  precious  pack. 

"Precious!  aye,  aye,  sir;  precious  don't 
describe  it.  Sacred,  that's  the  word.  That 
package  will  cause  more  excitement  in  the 
world  than  the  discovery  of  gold  in  Califor- 
nia. This  is  the  first  time  it's  been  out  of 
my  sight  or  feeling  for  months  and  months ; 
put  it  in  the  bunk  here,  please." 

I  went  away,  leaving  him  with  his  arms 
around  his  "sacred"  package. 

After  breakfast,  Enoch  and  I  went  to  the 


266         STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

little  cabin  to  hear  the  stranger's  story,  and 
I,  for  one,  confess  to  a  great  deal  of  curi- 
osity. 'Our  visitor  was  swallowing  his  last 
bowl  of  coffee  as  we  went  in.  "So  you  knew 
Captain  Burrows  and  the  'Duncan  McDon- 
ald,' "  said  he.  "Let  me  see,  what  is  your 
name?" 

"Alexander,  captain  of  the  'Champion/ 
at  your  service,  sir." 

"Alexander;  you're  not  the  first  mate, 
Enoch  Alexander,  who  sat  on  a  dead  whale 
all  night,  holding  on  to  a  lance  staff,  after 
losing  your  boat  and  crew  ?" 

"The  same." 

"Why,  I've  heard  Captain  Burrows  speak 
of  you  a  thousand  times." 

"But  you  were  going  to  tell  us  about  the 
'Duncan  McDonald.'  Tell  us  the  whole 
cruise  from  stem  to  stern." 

"Let's  see,  where  shall  I  begin  ?" 

"At  the  very  beginning,"  I  put  in. 

"Well,  perhaps  you've  noticed,  and  per- 
haps you  have  not,  but  I'm  not  a  sailor  by 
inclination  or  experience.  I  accidentally  went 


THE  POLAR  ZONE  267 

out  on  the  'Duncan  McDonald.'  How  old 
would  you  take  me  to  be?" 

"Fifty  or  fifty-five,"  said  Enoch. 

"Thanks,  captain,  I  know  I  must  look  all 
of  that;  but,  let  me  see,  forty-five,  fifty-five, 
sixty-five,  seventy — seventy — what  year  is 
this?" 

"Seventy-three." 

"Seventy-three.  Well,  I'm  only  twenty- 
eight  now." 

"Impossible!  Why,  man,  you're  as  gray 
as  I  am,  and  I'm  twice  that." 

"I  was  born  in  forty-five,  just  the  same. 
My  father  was  a  sea  captain  in  the  old  clip- 
per days,  and  a  long  time  after.  He  was  in 
the  West  India  trade  when  the  war  broke 
out,  and  as  he  had  been  educated  in  the  navy, 
enlisted  at  once.  It  was  on  one  of  the  gun- 
boats before  Vicksburg  that  he  was  killed. 
My  mother  came  of  a  well-to-do  family  of 
merchants,  the  Clarks  of  Boston,  and — to 
make  a  long  story  short — died  in  sixty-six, 
leaving  me  considerable  money. 

"An  itching  to  travel,  plenty  of  money, 
my  majority,  and  no  ties  at  home,  sent  me 


268    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

away  from  college  to  roam,  and  so  one 
spring  morning  in  sixty-seven  found  me 
sitting  lazily  in  the  stern  of  a  little  pleasure 
boat  off  Fort  Point  in  the  Golden  Gate,  list- 
lessly watching  a  steam  whaler  come  in  from 
the  Pacific.  My  boatman  called  my  atten- 
tion to  her,  remarking  that  she  was  spick- 
and-span  new,  and  the  biggest  one  he  ever 
saw,  but  I  took  very  little  notice  of  the  ship 
until  in  tacking  across  her  wake,  I  noticed 
her  name  in  gold  letters  across  the  stern — 
'Duncan  McDonald.'  Now  that  is  my  own 
name,  and  was  my  father's;  and  try  as  I 
would,  I  could  not  account  for  this  name  as  a 
coincidence,  common  as  the  name  might  be 
in  the  highlands  of  the  home  of  my  ances- 
tors; and  before  the  staunch  little  steamer 
had  gotten  a  mile  away,  I  ordered  the  boat  to 
follow  her.  I  intended  to  go  aboard  and 
learn,  if  possible,  something  of  how  her  name 
originated. 

"As  she  swung  at  anchor,  off  Goat  island, 
I  ran  my  little  boat  alongside  of  her  and 
asked  for  a  rope.  'Rope?'  inquired  a  Yan- 
kee sailor,  sticking  his  nose  and  a  clay  pipe 


THE  POLAR  ZONE  269 

overboard;  'might  you  be  wantin'  to  come 
aboard  ?' 

"  'Yes,  I  want  to  see  the  captain.' 
"  'Well,  the  cap'en's  jest  gone  ashore;  his 
dingy  is  yonder  now,  enemost  to  the  landin'. 
You  come  out  this  evenin'.  The  cap'en's 
particular  about  strangers,  but  he's  always 
to  home  of  an  evenin'.' 

"  'Who's  this  boat  named  after?' 
"  'The  Lord  knows,  stranger;  I  don't.  But 
I  reckon  the  cap'en  ken  tell ;  he  built  her.' 

"I  left  word  that  I  would  call  in  the  even- 
ing, and  at  eight  o'clock  was  alongside 
again.  This  time  I  was  assisted  on  board 
and  shown  to  the  door  of  the  captain's 
cabin;  the  sailor  knocked  and  went  away. 
It  was  a  full  minute,  I  stood  there  before  the 
knock  was  answered,  and  then  from  the  in- 
side, in  a  voice  like  the  roar  of  a  bull,  came 
the  call :  'Well,  come  in !' 

"I  opened  the  door  on  a  scene  I  shall  never 
forget.  A  bright  light  swung  from  the 
beams  above,  and  under  it  sat  a  giant  of  the 
sea — Captain  Burrows.  He  had  the  index 
finger  of  his  right  hand  resting  near  the 


270         STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

North  Pole  of  an  immense  globe ;  there  were 
many  books  about,  rolls  of  charts,  firearms, 
instruments,  clothing,  and  apparent  disorder 
everywhere.  The  cabin  was  large,  well-fur- 
nished, and  had  something  striking  about  it. 
I  looked  around  in  wonder,  without  saying 
a  word.  Captain  Burrows  was  the  finest- 
looking  man  I  ever  saw — six  feet  three, 
straight,  muscular,  with  a  pleasant  face ;  but 
the  keenest,  steadiest  blue  eye  you  ever  saw. 
His  hair  was  white,  but  his  long  flowing 
beard  had  much  of  the  original  yellow.  He 
must  have  been  sixty.  But  for  all  the  pleas- 
ant face  and  kindly  eye,  you  would  notice 
through  his  beard  the  broad,  square  chin  that 
proclaime  the  decision  and  staying  qualities 
of  the  man." 

"That's  George  Burrows,  stranger,  to  the 
queen's  taste — just  as  good  as  a  degerry- 
type,"  broke  in  Enoch. 

"Well,"  continued  the  stranger,  "he  let 
me  look  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  then  said : 
'Was  it  anything  particular?' 

"I  found  my  tongue  then,  and  answered : 
'I  hope  you'll  excuse  me,  sir ;  Hut  I  must  con- 


THE  POLAR  ZONE  2jl 

fess  it  is  curiosity.  I  came  on  board  out  of 
curiosity  to ' 

"  'Reporter,  hey?'  asked  the  captain. 

"  'No,  sir ;  the  fact  is  that  your  ship  has 
an  unusual  name,  one  that  interests  me,  and 
I  wish  to  make  so  bold  as  to  ask  how  she 
came  to  have  it.' 

"  'Any  patent  on  the  name  ?' 

"  'Oh,  no,  but  I ', 

"  'Well,  young  man,  this  ship— by  the 
way,  the  finest  whaler  that  was  ever  stuck  to- 
gether— is  named  for  a  friend  of  mine;  just 
such  a  man  as  she  is  a  ship — the  best  of  them 
all.' 

"'Was  he  a  sailor?' 

"  'Aye,  aye,  sir,  and  such  a  sailor.  Fight ! 
why,  man,  fighting  was  meat  and  drink  to 
him ' 

"'Was  he  a  whaler?' 

"  'No,  he  wa'n't;  but  he  was  the  best  man 
I  ever  knew  who  wa'n't  a  whaler.  He  was 
a  navy  sailor,  he  was,  and  a  whole  ten-pound 
battery  by  hisself.  Why,  you  jest  ort  to  see 
him  waltz  his  old  tin-clad  gun-boat  up  agin 
one  of  them  reb  forts — jest  naturally  skeered 


272         STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

'em  half  to  death  before  he  commenced 
shooting  at  all.' 

"  'Wasn't  he  killed  at  the  attack  on  Vicks- 
burg?' 

"  'Yes,  yes;  you  knowed  him  didn't  you? 
He  was  a ' 

"  'He  was  my  father.' 

'"What?  Your  father?'  yelled  Captain 
Burrows,  jumping  up  and  grasping  both  my 
hands.  'Of  course  he  was ;  darn  my  lubberly 
wit  that  I  couldn't  see  that  before !'  Then  he 
hugged  me  as  if  I  was  a  ten-year-old  girl, 
and  danced  around  me  like  a  maniac. 

"  'By  all  the  gods  at  once,  if  this  don't 
seem  like  Providence — yes,  sir,  old  man 
Providence  himself !  What  are  you  a-doin'  ? 
When  did  you  come  out  here?  Where  be 
you  goin',  anyway?' 

"I  found  my  breath,  and  told  him  briefly 
how  I  was  situated.  'Old  man  Providence 
has  got  his  hand  on  the  tiller  of  this  craft  or 
I'm  a  grampus!  Say!  do  you  know  I  was 
wishin'  and  waitin'  for  you?  Yes,  sir;  no 
more  than  yesterday,  says  I  to  myself,  Chuck 
Burrows,  says  I,  you  are  gettin'  long  too  fur 


THE  POLAR  ZONE  273 

to  the  wind'ard  o'  sixty  fur  this  here  trip  all 
to  yourself.  You  ort  to  have  young  blood 
in  this  here  enterprise;  and  then  I  just 
clubbed  myself  for  being  a  lubber  and  not 
getting  married  young  and  havin'  raised  a 
son  that  I  could  trust.  Yes,  sir,  jest  nat'rally 
cussed  myself  from  stem  to  stern,  and  never 
onct  thought  as  mebbe  my  old  messmate, 
Duncan  McDonald,  might  'a' done  suthin' 
for  his  country  afore  that  day  at  Vicks — 
say!  I  want  to  give  you  half  this  ship. 
Mabee  I'll  do  the  square  thing  and  give  you 
the  whole  of  the  tub  yet.  All  I  want  is  for 
you  to  go  along  with  me  on  a  voyage  of  dis- 
covery— be  my  helper,  secretary,  partner, 
friend — anything.  What  de  ye  say  ?  Say !' 
he  yelled  again,  before  I  could  answer,  'tell 
ye  what  I'll  do!  Bless  me  if — if  I  don't 
adopt  ye;  that's  what  I'll  do.  Call  me  pop 
from  this  out,  and  I'll  call  you  son.  Son!' 
he  shouted,  bringing  his  fist  down  with  a 
bang  on  the  table.  'Son!  that's  the  stuff! 
By  the  bald-headed  Abraham,  who  says 
Chuck  Burrows  ain't  got  no  kin  ?  The  "Dun- 
can McDonald,"  Burrows  &  Son,  owners, 


274        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

captain,  chief  cook,  and  blubber  cooker.  And 
who  the  hell  says  they  ain't  ?' 

"And  the  old  captain  glared  around  as  if 
he  defied  anybody  and  everybody  to  question 
the  validity  of  the  claims  so  excitedly  made. 

"Wei,  gentlemen,  of  course  there  was 
much  else  said  and  done,  but  that  announce- 
ment stood ;  and  to  the  day  of  his  death  I  al- 
ways called  the  captain  Father  Burrows,  and 
he  called  me  'son,'  always  addressing  me  so 
when  alone,  as  well  as  when  in  the  company 
of  others.  I  went  every  day  to  the  ship,  or 
accompanied  Father  Burrows  on  some  er- 
rand into  the  city,  while  the  boat  was  being 
refitted  and  prepared  for  a  three-years' 
cruise. 

"Every  day  the  captain  let  me  more  and 
more  into  his  plans,  told  me  interesting 
things  of  the  North,  and  explained  his  the- 
ory of  the  way  to  reach  the  Pole,  and  what 
could  be  found  there;  which  fascinated  me. 
Captain  Burrows  had  spent  years  in  the 
North,  had  noted  that  particularly  open  sea- 
sons occurred  in  what  appeared  cycles  of  a 
given  number  of  years,  and  proposed  to  go 


THE  POLAR  ZONE 

above  the  eightieth  parallel  and  wait  for  an 
open  season.  That,  according  to  his  figur- 
ing, would  occur  the  following  year. 

"I  was  young,  vigorous,  and  of  a  venture- 
some spirit,  and  entered  into  every  detail 
with  a  zest  that  captured  the  heart  of  the1 
old  sailor.  My  education  helped  him  greatly,  - 
and  new  books  and  instruments  were  added 
to  our  store  for  use  on  the  trip.  The  crew 
knew  only  that  we  were  going  on  a  three- 
years'  cruise.  They  had  no  share  in  the 
profits,  but  were  paid  extra  big  wages  in 
gold,  and  were  expected  to  go  to  out-of-the- 
way  places  and  further  north  than  usual. 
Captain  Burrows  and  myself  only  knew  that 
there  was  a  brand-new  twenty-foot  silk  flag 
rolled  up  in  oil-skin  in  the  cabin,  and  that 
Father  Burrows  had  declared:  'By  the 
hoary-headed  Nebblekenizer,  I'll  put  them 
stars  and  stripes  on  new  land,  and  mighty 
near  to  the  Pole,  or  start  a  butt  a-trying.' 

"In  due  course  of  time  we  were  all  ready, 
and  the  'Duncan  McDonald'  passed  out  of 
the  Golden  Gate  into  the  broad  Pacific,  drew 
her  fires,  and  stopped  her  engines,  reserving 


276    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

this  force  for  a  more  urgent  time.  She  spread 
her  ample  canvas,  and  stood  away  toward 
Alaska  and  the  unknown  and  undiscovered 
beyond. 

"The  days  were  not  long  for  me,  for  they 
were  full  of  study  and  anticipation.  Long 
chats  with  the  eccentric  but  masterful  man 
whose  friendship  and  love  for  my  father  had 
brought  us  together  were  the  entertainment 
and  stimulus  of  my  existence — a  man  who 
knew  nothing  of  science,  except  that  he  was 
master  of  it  in  his  own  way;  who  knew  all 
about  navigation,  and  to  whom  the  northern 
seas  were  as  familiar  as  the  contour  of  Bos- 
ton Common  was  to  me ;  who  had  more  sto- 
ries of  whaling  than  you  could  find  in  print, 
and  better  ones  than  can  ever  be  printed. 

"I  learned  first  to  respect,  then  to  admire, 
and  finally  to  love  this  old  salt.  How  many 
times  he  told  me  of  my  father's  death,  and 
how  and  when  he  had  risked  his  life  to  save 
the  life  of  Father  Burrows  or  some  of  the 
rest  of  his  men.  As  the  days  grew  into 
weeks,  and  the  weeks  into  months,  Captain 
Burrows  and  myself  became  as  one  man. 


THE  POLAR  ZONE 


277 


"  I  shall  never  forget  the  first  Sunday  at 
sea.  Early  in  the  morning  I  heard  the  cap- 
tain order  the  boatswain  to  pipe  all  hands  to 
prayers.  I  had  noticed  nothing  of  a  relig- 
ious nature  in  the  man,  and,  full  of  curiosity, 
went  on  deck  with  the  rest.  Captain  Bur- 
rows took  off  his  hat  at  the  foot  of  the  main- 
mast, and  said : 

"  'My  men,  this  is  the  first  Sunday  we 
have  all  met  together;  and  as  some  of  you 
are  not  familiar  with  the  religious  services 
on  board  the  'Duncan  McDonald,'  I  will 
state  that,  as  you  may  have  noticed,  I  asked 
no  man  about  his  belief  when  I  employed 
him — I  hired  you  to  simply  work  this  ship, 
not  to  worship  God — but  on  Sundays  it  is 
our  custom  to  meet  here  in  friendship,  man 
to  man,  Protestant  and  Catholic,  Moham- 
medan, Buddhist,  Fire-worshiper,  and  pa- 
gan, and  look  into  our  own  hearts,  worship- 
ing God  as  we  know  him,  each  in  his  own 
way.  If  any  man  has  committed  any  of- 
fense against  his  God,  let  him  make  such 
reparation  as  he  thinks  will  appease  that 
God;  but  if  any  man  has  committed  an  of- 


278    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

fense  against  his  fellow-man,  let  him  settle 
with  that  man  now  and  here,  and  not  worry 
God  with  the  details.  Religion  is  goodness 
and  justice  and  honesty ;  no  man  needs  a  sky- 
pilot  to  lay  a  course  for  him,  for  he  alone 
knows  where  the  channel,  and  the  rocks,  and 
the  bar  of  his  own  heart  are — look  into  your 
hearts/ 

"Captain  Burrows  stood  with  his  hat  in 
his  hand,  and  bowed  as  if  in  prayer,  and  all 
the  old  tars  bowed  as  reverently  as  if  the 
most  eloquent  divine  was  exhorting  an  un- 
seen power  in  their  behalf.  The  new  men 
followed  the  example  of  the  old.  It  was 
just  three  minutes  by  the  wheel-house  clock 
before  the  captain  straightened  up  and  said 
'Amen,'  and  the  men  turned  away  about 
their  tasks. 

"  'Beats  mumblin'  your  words  out  of  a 
book,  like  a  Britisher/  said  the  captain  to 
me;  'can't  offend  no  man's  religion,  and 
helps  every  one  on  'em.' 

"Long  months  after,  I  attended  a  burial 
service  conducted  in  the  same  way — in  si- 
lence. 


THE  POLAR  ZONE 


279 


"In  due  course  of  time  we  anchored  in 
Norton  Sound,  and  spent  the  rest  of  the  win- 
ter there;  and  in  the  spring  of  sixty-eight, 
we  worked  our  way  north  through  the  ice. 
We  passed  the  seventy-fifth  parallel  of  lati- 
tude on  July  4th.  During  the  summer  we 
took  a  number  of  whales,  storing  away  as 
much  oil  as  the  captain  thought  necessary, 
as  he  only  wanted  it  for  fuel  and  our  needs, 
intending  to  take  none  home  to  sell  unless 
we  were  unsuccessful  in  the  line  of  discovery 
—in  that  event  he  intended  to  stay  until  he 
had  a  full  cargo." 

Here  our  entertainer  gave  out,  and  had  to 
rest;  and  while  resting  he  went  to  sleep,  so 
that  he  did  not  take  up  his  story  until  the 
next  day. 

In  the  morning  our  guest  expressed  a  de- 
sire to  be  taken  on  deck;  and,  dressed  in 
warm  sailor  clothes,  he  rested  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder,  and  slowly  crawled  on  deck  and 
to  a  sheltered  corner  beside  the  captain's 
cabin.  Here  he  was  bundled  up ;  and  again 
Enoch  and  I  sat  down  to  listen  to  the 
strange  story  of  the  wanderer. 


280    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

"I  hope  it  won't  annoy  you,  gentlemen," 
said  he,  "but  I  can't  settle  down  without  my 
pack;  I  find  myself  thinking  of  its  safety. 
Would  you  mind  sending  down  for  it?" 

It  was  brought  up,  and  set  down  beside 
him;  he  looked  at  it  lovingly,  slipped  the 
rude  strap-loop  over  his  arm,  and  seemed 
ready  to  take  up  his  story  where  he  left  off. 
He  began : 

"I  don't  remember  whether  I  told  you  or 
not,  but  one  of  the  objects  of  Captain  Bur- 
rows's  trip  was  to  settle  something  definite 
about  the  location  of  the  magnetic  pole,  and 
other  magnetic  problems,  and  determine  the 
cause  of  some  of  the  well-known  distortions 
of  the  magnetic  needle.  He  had  some  odd, 
perhaps  crude,  instruments,  of  his  own  de- 
sign, which  he  had  caused  to  be  constructed 
for  this  purpose,  and  we  found  them  very 
efficient  devices  in  the  end.  Late  in  July,  we 
found  much  open  water,  and  steamed 
steadily  in  a  northwesterly  course.  We 
would  find  a  great  field  of  icebergs,  then 
miles  of  floe,  and  then  again  open  water. 


THE  POLAR  ZONE  281 

The  aurora  was  seen  every  evening,  but  it 
seemed  pale  and  white. 

"Captain  Burrows  brought  the  'Duncan 
McDonald's'  head  around  to  the  west  in 
open  water,  one  fine  day  in  early  August, 
and  cruised  slowly ;  taking  a  great  many  ob- 
servations, and  hunting,  as  he  told  me,  for 
floating  ice — he  was  hunting  for  a  current. 
For  several  days  we  kept  in  the  open  water, 
but  close  to  the  ice,  until  one  morning  the 
captain  ordered  the  ship  to  stand  due  north 
across  the  open  sea. 

"He  called  me  into  his  cabin,  and  with  a 
large  map  of  the  polar  regions  on  his  table, 
to  which  he  often  referred,  he  said:  'Son, 
I've  been  hunting  for  a  current;  there's 
plenty  of  'em  in  the  Arctic  ocean,  but  the 
one  I  want  ain't  loafing  around  here.  You 
see,  son,  it's  currents  that  carries  these  ice- 
bergs and  floes  south;  I  didn't  tell  you,  but 
some  days  when  we  were  in  those  floes,  we 
lost  as  much  as  we  gained.  We  worked  our 
way  north  through  the  floe,  but  not  on  the 
surface  of  the  globe;  the  floe  was  taking  us 
south  with  it.  Maybe  you  won't  believe  it, 


2g2    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

but  there  are  currents  going  north  in  this 
sea;  once  or  twice  in  a  lifetime,  a  whaler  or 
passage  hunter  returns  with  a  story  of  being 
drifted  north — now  that's  what  I  want,  I  am 
hunting  for  a  northern  current.  We  will  go 
to  the  northern  shore  of  this  open  water,  be 
it  one  mile  or  one  thousand,  and  there — well, 
hunt  again.' 

"Well,  it  was  in  September  when  we  at 
last  got  to  what  seemed  the  northern  shore 
of  this  open  sea.  We  had  to  proceed  very 
slowly,  as  there  were  almost  daily  fogs  and 
occasional  snow-storms;  but  one  morning 
the  ship  rounded  to,  almost  under  the 
shadow  of  what  seemed  to  be  a  giant  iceberg. 
Captain  Burrows  came  on  deck,  rubbing  his 
hands  in  glee. 

"  'Son/  said  he,  'that  is  no  iceberg;  that's 
ancient  ice,  perpetual  ice,  the  great  ice-ring 
— palaecrystic  ice,  you  scientific  fellows  call 
it.  I  saw  it  once  before,  in  thirty-seven, 
when  a  boy ;  that's  it,  and,  son,  beyond  that 
there  is  something.  Take  notice  that  that  is 
ice;  clear,  glary  ice.  You  know  a  so-called 
iceberg  is  really  a  snowberg;  it's  three- 


What  seemed  to  be  a  giant  iceberg   ,    .   ." 

( page  282.) 


THE  POLAR  ZONE  283 

fourths  under  water.  Now,  it  may  be  possi- 
ble that,  that  being  ice  which  will  float  more 
than  half  out  of  water,  the  northern  currents 
may  go  under  it — but  I  don't  believe  it.  Un- 
der or  over,  I  am  going  to  find  one  of  'em,  if 
it  takes  till  doomsday.' 

"We  sailed  west,  around  close  to  this 
great  wall  of  ice,  for  two  weeks,  without 
seeing  any  evidence  of  a  current  of  any  kind, 
until  there  came  on  a  storm  from  the  north- 
west that  drove  a  great  deal  of  ice  around 
the  great  ring;  but  it  seemed  to  keep  rather 
clear  of  the  great  wall  of  ice  and  to  go  off 
in  a  tangent  toward  the  south.  The  lead 
showed  no  bottom  at  one  hundred  fathoms, 
even  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  the  ice. 

"It  was  getting  late  in  the  season,  the  mer- 
cury often  going  down  to  fifteen  below  zero, 
and  every  night  the  aurora  became  brighter. 
We  sailed  slowly  around  the  open  water,  and 
finally  found  a  place  where  the  sheer  preci- 
pice of  ice  disappeared  and  the  shore  sloped 
down  to  something  like  a  beach.  Putting 
out  a  sea-anchor,  the  'Duncan  McDonald' 
kept  within  a  half-a-mile  of  this  icy  shore. 


284         STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

The  captain  had  determined  to  land  and  sur- 
vey the  place,  which  far  away  back  seemed 
to  terminate  in  mountain  peaks  of  ice. 

"That  night  the  captain  and  I  sat  on  the 
rail  of  our  ship,  talking  over  the  plans  for 
to-morrow's  expedition,  when  the  ship 
slowly  but  steadily  swung  around  her  stern 
to  the  mountain  of  ice — the  engines  had  been 
moving  slowly  to  keep  her  head  to  the  wind. 
Captain  Burrows  jumped  to  his  feet  in  joy. 
'A  current!'  he  shouted;  'a  current,  and  to- 
ward the  north,  too — old  man  Providence 
again,  son;  he  allus  takes  care  of  his  own!' 

"Some  staves  were  thrown  overboard, 
and,  sure  enough,  they  floated  toward  the 
ice;  but  there  was  no  evidence  of  an  open- 
ing in  the  mighty  ring,  and  I  remarked  to 
Captain  Burrows  that  the  current  evidently 
went  under  the  ice. 

"  'It  looks  like  it  did,  son ;  it  looks  like 
it  did;  but  if  it  goes  under,  we  will  go  over.' 

"After  we  had  taken  a  few  hours  of  sleep, 
the  long-boat  landed  our  little  party  of  five 
men  and  seven  dogs.  We  had  food  and 
drink  for  a  two  weeks'  trip,  were  well  armed. 


THE  POLAR  ZONE  285 

and  carried  some  of  our  instruments.  It  ap- 
peared to  be  five  or  six  miles  to  the  top  of  the 
mountain,  but  it  proved  more  than  thirty. 
We  were  five  days  in  getting  there,  and  did 
so  only  after  a  dozen  adventures  that  I  will 
tell  you  at  another  time. 

"We  soon  began  to  find  stones  and  dirt 
in  the  ice,  and  before  we  had  gone  ten  miles, 
found  the  frozen  carcass  of  an  immense  mas- 
todon— its  great  tusks  only  showing  above 
the  level;  but  its  huge,  woolly  body  quite 
plainly  visible  in  the  ice.  The  ice  was  melt- 
ing, and  there  were  many  streams  running 
towards  the  open  water.  It  was  warmer  as 
we  proceeded.  Dirt  and  rocks  became  the 
rule,  instead  of  the  exception,  and  we  were 
often  obliged  to  go  around  a  great  boulder  of 
granite.  While  we  were  resting,  on  the  third 
day,  for  a  bite  to  eat,  one  of  the  men  took  a 
dish,  scooped  up  some  sand  from  the  bottom 
of  the  icy  stream,  and  'panned'  it  out.  There 
was  gold  in  it :  gold  enough  to  pay  to  work 
the  ground.  About  noon  of  the  fifth  day, 
we  reached  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  and 
from  there  looked  down  the  other  side — 


286    STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

upon  a  sight  the  like  of  which  no  white  men 
had  ever  seen  before. 

"From  the  very  summits  of  this  icy-ring 
mountain  the  northern  side  was  a  sheer 
precipice  of  more  than  three  thousand  feet, 
and  was  composed  of  rocks,  and  rocks  only, 
the  foot  of  the  mighty  crags  being  washed 
by  an  open  ocean;  and  this  was  lighted  up 
by  a  peculiar  crimson  glow.  Great  white 
whales  sported  in  the  waters ;  huge  sea-birds 
hung  in  circles  high  in  the  air ;  yet  below  us, 
and  with  our  glasses,  we  could  see,  on  the 
rocks  at  the  foot  of  the  crags,  seals  and  some 
other  animals  that  were  strange  to  us.  But 
follow  the  line  of  beetling  crags  and  moun- 
tain peaks  where  you  would,  the  northern 
side  presented  a  solid  blank  wall  of  awful 
rocks,  in  many  places  the  summit  overhang- 
ing and  the  shore  well  under  in  the  mighty 
shadow.  Nothing  that  any  of  us  had  ever 
seen  in  nature  before  was  so  impressive,  so 
awful.  We  started  on  our  return,  after  a 
couple  of  hours  of  the  awe-inspiring  sight 
beyond  the  great  ring,  and  for  full  two  hours 
not  a  man  spoke. 


THE  POLAR  ZONE  287 

"  'Father  Burrows,'  said  I,  'what  do  you 
think  that  is  back  there  ?' 

"  'No  man  knows,  my  son,  and  it  will  de- 
volve on  you  and  me  to  name  it;  but  we 
won't  unless  we  get  to  it  and  can  take  back 
proofs.' 

'  'Do  you  think  we  could  get  down  the 
other  side?' 

'  'No,  I  don't  think  so,  and  we  seem  to 
have  struck  it  in  the  lowest  spot  in  sight. 
I'd  give  ten  years  of  my  life  if  the  'Duncan 
McDonald'  was  over  there  in  that  duck 
pond.' 

"  'Captain/  said  Eli  Jeffries,  the  second 
mate,  'do  you  know  what  I've  been  thinkin'  ? 
I  believe  that  'ere  water  we  seen  is  an  open 
passage  from  the  Behring  side  of  the  frozen 
ocean  over  agin'  some  of  them  'ere  Roosian 
straits.  If  we  could  get  round  to  the  end  of 
it,  we'd  sail  right  through  the  great  North- 
west Passage.' 

"  'You  don't  think  there  is  land  over  there 
somewhere  ?' 

"  'Nope/ 

"  'Didn't  take  notice  that  the  face  of  your 


288        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

"passage"  was  granite  or  quartz  rocks,  hey? 
Didn't  notice  all  them  animals  and  birds, 
hey? ' 

"  'Look  out !'  yelled  the  man  ahead  with 
the  dog-sledge. 

"A  strange,  whirring  noise  was  heard  in 
the  foggy  light,  that  sounded  over  our  heads. 
We  all  dropped  to  the  ground,  and  the  noise 
increased,  until  a  big  flock  of  huge  birds 
passed  over  us  in  rapid  flight  north.  There 
must  have  been  thousands  of  them.  Captain 
Burrows  brought  his  shot-gun  to  his  shoul- 
der and  fired.  There  were  some  wild  screams 
in  the  air,  and  a  bird  came  down  to  the  ice 
with  a  loud  thud.  It  looked  very  large  a 
hundred  feet  away,  but  sight  is  very  deceiv- 
ing in  this  white  country  in  the  semi-dark- 
ness. We  found  it  a  species  of  duck,  rather 
large  and  with  gorgeous  plumage. 

"  'Coin*  north,  to  Eli's  "passage"  to  lay 
her  eggs  on  the  ice,'  said  the  captain,  half 
sarcastically. 

"We  reached  the  ship  in  safety,  and  the 
captain  and  I  spent  long  hours  in  trying  to 


THE  POLAR  ZONE  289 

form  some  plan  for  getting  beyond  the  great 
ice-ring. 

"  'If  it's  warm  up  there,  and  everything 
that  we've  seen  says  it  is,  all  this  cold  water 
that's  going  north  gets  warm  and  goes  out 
some  place;  and  rest  you,  son,  wherever  it 
goes  out,  there's  a  hole  in  the  ice.' 

"Here  we  were  interrupted  by  the  mate, 
who  said  that  there  were  queer  things  going 
on  overhead,  and  some  of  the  sailors  were 
ready  to  mutiny  unless  the  return  trip  was 
commenced.  Captain  Burrows  went  on  deck 
at  once,  and  you  may  be  sure  I  followed  at 
his  heels. 

"'What's  wrong  here?'  demanded  the 
captain,  in  his  roaring  tone,  stepping  into 
the  midst  of  the  crew. 

"  'A  judgment  against  this  pryin'  into 
God's  secrets,  sir,'  said  an  English  sailor,  in 
an  awe-struck  voice.  'Look  at  the  signs, 
sir,'  pointing  overhead. 

"Captain  Burrows  and  I  both  looked  over 
our  heads,  and  there  saw  an  impressive  sight, 
indeed.  A  vast  colored  map  of  an  unknown 
world  hung  in  the  clouds  over  us — a  mirage 


290        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

from  the  aurora.  It  looked  very  near,  and 
was  so  distinct  that  we  could  distinguish  po- 
lar bears  on  the  ice-crags.  One  man  insisted 
that  the  mainmast  almost  touched  one  snowy 
peak,  and  most  of  them  actually  believed 
that  it  was  an  inverted  part  of  some  world, 
slowly  coming  down  to  crush  us.  Captain 
Burrows  looked  for  several  minutes  before 
he  spoke.  Then  he  said:  'My  men,  this  is 
the  grandest  proof  of  all  that  Providence  is 
helping  us.  This  thing  that  you  see  is  only 
a  picture;  it's  a  mirage,  the  reflection  of  a 
portion  of  the  earth  on  the  sky.  Just  look, 
and  you  will  see  that  it's  in  the  shape  of  a 
crescent,  and  we  are  almost  in  the  center  of 
it ;  and,  I  tell  you,  it's  a  picture  of  the  coun- 
try just  in  front  of  us.  See  this  peak?  See 
that  low  place  where  we  went  up  ?  There  is 
the  great  wall  we  saw,  the  open  sea  beyond 
it,  and,  bless  me,  if  it  don't  look  like  some- 
thing green  over  in  the  middle  of  that  ocean ! 
See,  here  is  the  "Duncan  McDonald,"  as 
plain  as  A,  B,  C,  right  overhead.  Now, 
there's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of  in  that;  if  it's 
a  warning,  it's  a  good  one — and  if  any  one 


THE  POLAR  ZONE  2QI 

wants  to  go  home  to  his  mother's,  and  is  old 
enough,  he  can  walk !' 

"The  captain  .looked  around,  but  the  sail- 
ors were  as  cool  as  he  was — they  were  re- 
assured by  his  honest  explanation.  Then  he 
took  me  by  the  arm,  and,  pointing  to  the 
painting  in  the  sky,  said:  'Old  man  Provi- 
dence again,  son,  sure  as  you  are  born;  do 
you  see  that  lane  through  the  great  ring? 
There's  an  open,  fairly  straight  passage  to 
the  inner  ocean,  except  that  it's  closed  by 
about  three  miles  of  ice  on  our  side;  see  it 
there,  on  the  port  side  ?' 

"Yes,  I  could  see  it,  but  I  asked  Captain 
Burrows  how  he  could  account  for  the  open 
passages  beyond  and  the  wall  of  ice  in  front ; 
it  was  cold  water  going  in. 

"  'It's  strange,'  he  answered,  shading  his 
eye  with  his  hand,  and  looking  long  at  the 
picture  of  the  clear  passage,  like  a  great  canal 
between  the  beetling  cliffs.  All  at  once,  he 
grasped  my  arm  and  said  in  excitement, 
pointing  towards  the  outer  end  of  the  pass- 
age :  'Look !' 

"As  I  looked  at  the  mirage  again,  the 


292   STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

great  mass  of  ice  in  front  commenced  to 
slowly  turn  over,  outwardly. 

"'It's  an  iceberg,  sir,  only  an  iceberg!' 
said  the  captain,  excitedly,  'and  she  is  just 
holding  that  passage  because  the  current 
keeps  her  up  against  the  hole ;  now,  she  will 
wear  out  some  day,  and  then — in  goes  the 
"Duncan  McDonald" !' 

"  'But  there  are  others  to  take  its  place,' 
and  I  pointed  to  three  other  bergs,  appar- 
ently some  twenty  miles  away,  plainly  shown 
in  the  sky;  'they  are  the  reinforcements  to 
hold  the  passage.' 

"  'Looks  that  way,  son,  but  by  the  great 
American  buzzard,  we'll  get  in  there  some- 
how, if  we  have  to  blow  that  berg  up.' 

"As  we  looked,  the  picture  commenced  to 
disappear,  not  fade,  but  to  go  off  to  one  side, 
just  as  a  picture  leaves  the  screen  of  a  magic 
lantern.  Over  the  inner  ocean  there  appeared 
dark  clouds;  but  this  part  was  visible  last, 
and  the  clouds  seemed  to  break  at  the  last 
moment,  and  a  white  city,  set  in  green  fields 
and  forests,  was  visible  for  an  instant,  a 
great  golden  dome  in  the  center  remaining 


I 


THE  POLAR  ZONE  293 

in  view  after  the  rest  of  the  city  was  in- 
visible. 

"  'A  rainbow  of  promise,  son/  said  the 
captain. 

"I  looked  around.  The  others  had  grown 
tired  of  looking,  and  were  gone.  Captain 
Burrows  and  myself  were  the  only  ones  that 
saw  the  city. 

"We  got  under  way  for  an  hour,  and  then 
stood  by  near  the  berg  until  eight  bells  the 
next  morning;  but  you  must  remember  it 
was  half  dark  all  the  time  up  there  then. 
While  Captain  Burrows  and  myself  were  at 
breakfast,  he  cudgeled  his  brains  over  ways 
and  means  for  moving  that  ice,  or  prevent- 
ing other  bergs  from  taking  its  place.  When 
we  went  on  deck,  our  berg  was  some  distance 
from  the  mouth  of  the  passage,  and  steadily 
floating  away.  Captain  Burrows  steamed 
the  ship  cautiously  up  toward  the  passage; 
there  was  a  steady  current  coming  out. 

"  'I  reckon,'  said  Eli  Jeffries,  'they  must 
have  a  six-months'  ebb  and  flow  up  in  that 
ocean.' 

"  'If  that's  the  case,  said  Captain  Bur- 


294        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

rows,  'the  sooner  we  get  in,  the  better ;'  and 
he  ordered  the  'Duncan  McDonald'  into  the 
breach  in  the  world  of  ice. 

"Gentlemen,  suffice  it  to  say  that  we 
found  that  passage  perfectly  clear,  and  wider 
as  we  proceeded.  This  we  did  slowly,  keep- 
ing the  lead  going  constantly.  The  first 
mate  reported  the  needle  of  the  compass 
working  curiously,  dipping  down  hard,  and 
sparking — something  he  had  never  seen. 
Captain  Burrows  only  said :  'Let  her  spark !' 

"As  we  approached  the  inner  ocean,  as  we 
called  it,  the  passage  was  narrow ;  it  became 
very  dark  and  the  waters  roared  ahead.  I 
feared  a  fall  or  rapid,  but  the  'Duncan  Mc- 
Donald' could  not  turn  back.  The  noise  was 
only  the  surf  on  the  great  crags  within.  As 
the  ship  passed  out  into  the  open  sea  beyond, 
the  needle  of  the  compass  turned  clear 
around  and  pointed  back.  'Do  you  know, 
son,'  said  Captain  Burrows,  'that  I  believe 
the  so-called  magnetic  pole  is  a  great  ring 
around  the  true  Pole,  and  that  we  just  passed 
it  there  ?  The  whole  inside  of  this  mountain 


THE  POLAR  ZONE  295 

looks  to  me  like  rusted  iron  instead  of  stone, 
anyhow.' ' 

Here  our  story-teller  rested  and  dozed  for 
a  few  minutes;  then  rousing  up,  he  said: 
"I'll  tell  you  the  rest  to-morrow;  yes,  to- 
morrow; I'm  tired  now.  To-morrow  I'll 
tell  you  about  a  wonderful  country ;  wonder- 
ful cities;  wonderful  people!  I'll  show  you 
solar  pictures  such  as  you  never  saw,  of 
scenes,  places,  and  people  you  never  dreamed 
of.  I  will  show  you  implements  that  will 
prove  that  there's  a  country  where  gold  is 
as  common  as  tin  at  home — where  they  make 
knives  and  forks  and  stew-pans  of  it!  I'll 
show  you  writing  more  ancient  and  more 
interesting  than  the  most  treasured  relics  in 
our  Sanscrit  libraries.  I'll  tell  you  of  the 
two  years  I  spent  in  another  world.  I'll  tell 
you  of  the  precious  cargo  that  went  to  the 
bottom  of  the  frozen  ocean  with  the  staunch 
little  ship,  'Duncan  McDonald ;'  of  the  brav- 
est, noblest  commander,  and  the  sweetest  an- 
gel of  a  woman  that  ever  breathed  and  lived 
and  loved.  I'll  tell  you  of  my  escape  and  the 
hell  I've  been  through.  To-morrow " 


296        STORIES  OF  THE  RAILROAD 

He  dozed  off  for  a  few  moments  again. 

"But  I've  got  enough  in  this  pack  to  turn 
the  world  inside  out  with  wonder — ah,  what 
a  sensation  it  will  be,  what  an  educational 
feature !  It  will  send  out  a  hundred  harum- 
scarum  expeditions  to  find  Polaria — but 
there  are  few  commanders  like  Captain  Bur- 
rows ;  he  could  do  it,  the  rest  of  'em  will  die 

in  the  ice.  But  when  I  get  to  San  Fran . 

Say,  captain,  how  long  will  it  take  to  get 
there,  and  how  long  before  you  start  ?" 

Enoch  and  I  exchanged  glances,  and 
Enoch  answered :  "We  wa'n't  goin'  to 
'Frisco." 

"Around  the  Horn,  then?"  inquired  the 
stranger,  sitting  up.  "But  you  will  land  me 
in  'Frisco,  won't  you?  I  can't  wait,  I 
must " 

"We're  goin'  in"  said  Enoch;  "goin' 
north,  for  a  three-years'  cruise." 

"North!"  shouted  the  stranger,  wildly. 
"Three  years  in  that  hell  of  ice.  Three 
years!  My  God!  North!  North!" 

He  was  dancing  around  the  deck  like  a 
maniac,  trying  to  put  his  pack-loop  over  his 


THE  POLAR  ZONE  2$? 

head.  Enoch  went  toward  him,  to  tell  him 
how  he  could  go  on  the  "Enchantress,"  but 
he  looked  wildly  at  him,  ran  forward  and 
sprang  out  on  the  bowsprit,  and  from  there 
to  the  jib.  Enoch  saw  he  was  out  of  his 
mind,  and  ordered  two  sailors  to  bring  him 
in.  As  they  sprang  on  to  the  bow,  he  stood 
up  and  screamed : 

"No!  No!  No!  Three  years!  Three 
lives !  Three  hells !  I  never " 

One  of  the  men  reached  for  him  here,  but 
he  kicked  at  the  sailor  viciously,  and  turning 
sidewise,  sprang  into  the  water  below. 

A  boat,  already  in  the  water,  was  manned 
instantly;  but  the  worn-out  body  of  another 
North  Pole  explorer  had  gone  to  the  sands 
of  the  bottom  where  so  many  others  have 
gone  before;  evidently  his  heavy  pack  had 
held  him  down,  there  to  guard  the  story  it 
could  tell — in  death  as  he  had  in  life. 


THE   END 


A     000  097  965     8 


Ill 


